


While Quinn Sleeps (a tornado and a volcano meet)

by badboy_fangirl



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-05
Updated: 2012-01-05
Packaged: 2017-10-28 23:05:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/313158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badboy_fangirl/pseuds/badboy_fangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is <i>Glee</i> meets <i>While You Were Sleeping</i>, the 1995 movie starring Sandra Bullock. Puck is a Chicago cop who helps rescue Quinn when she’s mugged on the El, but when he meets her friends, things get really interesting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story includes mentions of violent crime, though no violence is actually described.
> 
> Beta’d by the amazing becca_radcgg and the wonderful wrldpossibility. They deserve medals, seriously. It’s so long! I also reference the play "Shirley Todd: The Demon Beautician of Fleet Street" which I stole from an article I read about Chris Colfer. Everything you recognize from the movie, I also stole. Anything you don’t, I made up, or did Internet research on, I swear!
> 
> Written for the reel_glee challenge.

She was one of the most beautiful people he'd ever seen in his life, and he had this weird thing for her even though he didn't know her at all. Even now, with blood all over her face, there was something angelic about her appearance. Her utter stillness, except for her shallow breathing, filled him with a fear that was all too familiar. He hunched over her prone figure on the El tracks, holding his dress blues to her head and shivering uncontrollably in his undershirt. He'd ripped off his coat and left it on the platform to get to the button-down underneath to use as a compress.

It had to be one of the coldest Decembers on record for the city of Chicago, but he was certain that wasn't the only reason he was trembling.

"Puck! Can you respond?"

He heard his partner’s voice from above, and looked up. Hudson had gone after the perp, but the fact that he was back so soon didn’t sit well. "I don't want to move her!” he shouted. “She's bleeding like a motherfucker! And she's unconscious!"

"It's a head wound, head wounds always bleed like that. We've got to move her. The next train will be here any minute!"

His shirt was wrapped clumsily around her head, wadded up beneath his hand, wet and sticky with her blood. He was freezing, and maybe she was dying, but he couldn't find it in him to treat her like any other nameless vic. He stalled by asking, "What's the ETA on the EMTs?"

"Five minutes out, but by the time they get all the way _here_ , the train will be arriving."

"I can't tell if her back or neck is injured!"

"If she gets hit by the train, she'll be dead anyway, and so will you! As your partner, I can't let you stay down there! Now, goddammit, move out!" Puck knew Hudson was right, but he still feared doing anything. He didn't want to permanently maim her in anyway.

There was something about her, and the fact that he saw her almost every day at the same time as she ran to catch the train; it was like he _did_ know her, and now, in this moment when she was the scene of a crime, he couldn't operate in the normally detached way a uniform cop on patrol should.

She was a person, a person he cared about, and it was totally fucking with his head. (The Unit shrink would tell him he was projecting if he still saw that dickwad on a regular basis. Which he didn’t.)

He wanted to save her and fucking kill the bastard that had tried to rip her bag out of her grasp. When she’d fought back, he’d shoved her off the platform onto the empty tracks several feet below.

In theory, he knew she hadn't fallen that far. Her back was probably not seriously injured. But when he’d jumped down to help her and his partner had initially chased after the mugger, all he could see was blood everywhere, across her face and coating her blonde hair. All he could smell was death, and something inside him had ruptured along with the deep gash across her forehead.

"Puck!" Hudson called again, and then he was right there beside him, having also jumped down on the tracks. "We have to get her up on the platform. _We have to._ "

His eyes connected with Hudson's and he saw the concern and the exasperation all mixed together; then the urgency in his partner's voice finally penetrated his mind. He hated to remove his hand from the wadded up shirt pressed to her forehead, but they would need both of their arms to move her as quickly and carefully as possible.

They each took a place on either side of the her, and gently slid one arm beneath her shoulders and the other under her thighs. "One, two, three," Puck counted, and they heaved upward at the same moment, lifting her above their heads.

Once she was lying on the concrete platform and Hudson had jumped up and extended his hand to haul Puck up too, they heard the rattling of the 11:15pm train. It whizzed by, the lights flickering with the rushing velocity of the steel machine. Puck had just knelt down to reapply pressure to her head wound—the shirt had adhered to her skin thanks to all the blood—when he saw Jimenez and Martin flying up the stairs towards them, their medical bags held tightly in their hands.

They went to work on her immediately, and long minutes later when they had her stable enough to move her, one of them ran back for the gurney.

"You okay?" Hudson asked, clapping Puck on the back. He hadn’t noticed that his partner had put his coat around his shoulders until then. He was too busy watching the paramedics put in a central line when they couldn't get a vein to pop up on one of her slender arms.

"Yeah, yeah," he said, nodding his head. He wasn't really, he felt like he was sort of having an out-of-body experience, only the detachment was weirdly heavy. He couldn't imagine what he would do if he couldn't go with her to the hospital.

He was used to muggers and tweakers; he worked the transit system, for fuck’s sake. But he’d never recovered a body, or had to move someone who was unconscious before (that wasn't a raging alcoholic or a meth head), and he hadn’t had anything this intense happen since he’d been back on the street. (Three months on the desk because of ‘personal issues’ had been a pain in his ass, but now he thought maybe his boss had been on to something.)

"Come on, let's follow the bus to County," Hudson said.

Puck looked gratefully at his partner and, sliding his arms into the sleeves of his coat, walked behind the EMT's as they carried the unconscious woman out to the parking area. Sometimes you had to be with a partner for years before you had the kind of silent communication they did. Only six months in, Puck found that Hudson wasn’t just the best partner he’d ever had, he was the best he could have ever hoped for.

As they got into the car, Hudson radioed in, "Caucasian female down, perpetrator still at large. Williams and Farnsworth are searching the immediate area. We're going to the hospital with the vic; hopefully she'll regain consciousness soon, and we'll get more info."

Puck pulled his seatbelt across his shoulder. He closed his eyes briefly, mouthing a silent prayer that she would in fact wake up, the sooner the better.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later as they pulled up in front of the hospital, dispatch came over their radios, "Alleged perp apprehended in the El assault on Randall Street. All units return for identification."

Puck looked at Hudson, who had just thrown the car into park. "You go in with her," Hudson said. "I'll report in."

"You sure?" Puck asked, his fingers already gripping the door handle.

"Yeah, it's fine. You didn't get a good look at him anyway. I'll take care of it, and I'll come back later and get you. Besides, if she wakes up, you'll be able to question her, see if she knew the guy."

Nodding his agreement, he patted Hudson’s shoulder. "Thanks, Finn," he said sincerely, locking gazes with his partner before he got out of the car.

For all that they got along so well, tonight might have put them over the top, because he'd been thoroughly unprofessional. They would have to talk about that. Not that Hudson had seemed mad, or even irritated. But the guy was so mellow most of the time that might not mean anything.

Puck shoved that from his mind as he jogged towards the ambulance bay. He could worry about it later. For now, he just wanted to make sure the girl was still alive.

He maneuvered himself inside the sliding doors of the ER, though he was sure he needed authorization to enter, and then looked around for Jimenez or Martin. It wasn't hard to find them in their big coats, as they rattled off the woman's blood pressure and pulse count. He hurried up the hall towards them just as they released her into a doctor's care. A white man and a black woman spoke rapidly back and forth as they assessed her and Puck stood watching through the window of the doors they'd just gone through.

He waited there for a few minutes, watching them while they stabilized her. He had his nose practically pressed to the window as they cut open her shirt and checked her ribs. Leaning his forehead on the glass, he took a deep breath and closed his eyes. What was he going to do if she died? Maybe he _was_ a fucking mental case.

"Sir?" He jerked when a hand touched his arm, and flinched back from the door. "Oh, I'm sorry, Officer. I didn't realize this was a police matter." The woman standing beside him was obviously a nurse; her peach colored scrubs designated her place in this environment. "You really should wait out in chairs. I'll come and get you if she becomes available for questioning."

Puck looked down, suddenly realizing he had the woman's bag in his hand. He must have grabbed it before Hudson pulled him back up onto the platform.

"I'm not just working a case, that's my fiancée in there." The lie sprang so readily from his lips, it was like he’d planned it all along. As he looked back through the window, he realized he didn’t feel bad about it. He had to be here, and he wasn't going to let the nurse take him away from this blonde woman.

He needed her to live.

  


* * *

By the time the nurse came back and asked him if there was anyone he wanted her to call on his behalf, he was sitting at the sleeping girl’s bedside—whose name he now knew because he'd looked through her wallet.

Quinn Fabray. Quinn McKenzie Fabray. Kinda different. "No," he said, shaking his head. "I've taken care of it."

That was another lie, but what did it matter? She hadn't woken up yet, but her vitals were good, and now he was just waiting on a bed to open up on the second floor so they could move her up to ICU. She had a large white bandage across her forehead and her eyelashes—which were so long they didn’t seem real—rested softly against her cheeks.

What mattered was the nurse left him alone, so he could keep his lonely vigil. His partner came back around two a.m. to tell him that the guy had been booked and would be spending the Christmas weekend in jail; there was no chance that he’d get arraigned until after the holiday was over. Then he’d tried to get Puck to come with him, to leave the woman there while they went and celebrated Christmas. Puck reminded Hudson that he was Jewish, and besides, he didn’t want to leave her. So eventually he’d left Puck sitting just where he was now.

Only now, it was almost seven in the morning.

Her chest moved up and down gently and he held her left, ringless hand inside his, his thumb rubbing back and forth over her knuckles. It was like he couldn’t help himself. Death had touched her, but hadn't closed its fist around her and snatched her away. Not yet anyway.

The glimmer of hope was almost blinding.

Around the time they came to move her upstairs (which took for-fucking-ever), the cell phone in her bag started ringing, but he ignored it. At first. When it had rung three times in the space of five minutes, he checked it and saw that three different people had called her. Flipping the phone open, he looked through her contacts and saw that each of the three people who had called were numbers one, two, and three on her speed dial.

When it rang again only a few minutes later, he took a breath and answered it. "Quinn Fabray's phone."

"Who the _hell_ is _this_?" a voice demanded, and Puck could tell just from those five words that it belonged inside a big black woman.

"Name’s Officer Puckerman. You a friend of Miss Fabray's?"

"Oh, my god. Kurt! A cop just answered her phone!" The woman was obviously speaking to someone on her end of things, but she quickly continued with, "I'm Mercedes Jones, and Quinn is my best friend. Why is she with the police?"

The demanding quality left and was replaced by true, deep concern. Puck felt his chest tighten at the knowledge that she had friends, people who cared for her and would be upset to learn that she had been injured.

"She was the victim of a crime at the El Station near Randall Street. She's in the hospital—please ma'am—calm down," he said when he heard her breathing escalate and she whimpered, _Oh, sweet baby Jesus_. "She's in stable condition, but she's unconscious right now. I'm here with her because I'm part of the investigative team that—"

"Which hospital?" she interrupted, the demand back in her voice.

"County General."

"We're on our way."

"Ma'am, really her family should be contacted—" God, he was such a douche. If he cared anything about her family, he would have been scrolling through her phone much sooner.

"Listen up, white boy," Mercedes Jones growled in his ear (he heard a guy yell in the background, _Ohmigod, he’s a police officer! You can’t say that!_ ). " _We're_ her family. And we're on our way down there."

The call cut off abruptly and Puck stared at the device in his hand, a little smile touching his mouth. It was fucking hysterical that she could tell he was white over the phone, just like could tell she was black. Not that he'd ever say that to her, because she'd probably put his balls in a vice, but all the same, he was a little excited to meet Quinn Fabray's best friend.

  


* * *

“Rachel! Rachel! Where are you, girl?”

“In the back. Follow the sound of my high F,” she said, pitching her voice and hitting the note. She was surprised anyone besides herself had come to the theater today.

“You stinking show off,” Mercedes said, coming around the corner of the hall into the back room of their rehearsal area. “I just found out where Quinn is!”

Rachel turned around to face her friend. She’d been doing some scales, just keeping her voice in shape. During the holidays they always had more shows, but for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day they had none, so she needed to keep up with her exercises. Instantly all of that was forgotten though. Nobody had been able to find Quinn for several hours the evening before and now it was early morning, and they’d all been worried. It was very unlike her to not check in, and she hadn’t been going home for Christmas. “Where?” she asked, the anxious expression on Mercedes' face causing her stomach to knot up.

“The hospital. Kurt and I stopped to get you to go with us. Some cop answered her phone when I called the second time. He said she’s stable, but unconscious.”

Rachel walked to the chair in the corner and grabbed her overcoat. “What happened?”

“She got hurt at the El Station, he said. I don’t know how. But I’ve already called her parents, and they’re trying to get a flight out here. But it’s freaking Christmas Day. You know it’s going to be impossible to get out of Columbus.”

They hurried out of the theater to the car parked out front. Kurt sat in the driver’s seat, impatiently waiting, his fingers strumming along the top of the steering wheel. Rachel could see the anxiety across his features too. He turned a pained smile on her as she slid into the back seat and Mercedes got in the front.

“She’s alive,” Rachel said. “That’s what matters. Anything else, we can deal with.”

Kurt nodded and Mercedes mumbled, “Please Lord, please Lord.”

“Getting a temporary replacement for her is much better than her dying.” Rachel wasn’t sure if she was trying to comfort them or herself.

The Show Must Go On, with or without Quinn. They all knew that. They were theater people; it was the mantra of their kind.

On the other hand, Quinn was their dear friend, and wondering if she would live to see another show weighed on all their minds, Rachel was certain.

It seemed like the twenty minutes it took to get to the hospital stretched out into twenty years, but finally they were there, and all jumping from the car like it was on fire.

Once inside, they approached the front desk, and Mercedes said, "We're friends of Quinn Fabray; we were told she was here?"

The receptionist looked down at her list, and said, "I'm pretty sure she got moved up to ICU, but let me double check. One sec." She pushed herself away from the desk, the wheeled chair she sat on taking her several feet away from them. "Dr. Morris! Did your head trauma/assault victim go up to ICU?"

Rachel saw a red-haired man stop as he walked down the hall to look back at the receptionist. "Yeah," he said. "She and her fiancé just went up about a half an hour ago."

As the woman rolled back towards them, she pointed to her left. "Elevator's there. You want the second floor."

Kurt turned to Rachel. "When did Quinn get a fiancé?" he asked, puzzled.

"I have no idea!" she burst out.

Mercedes planted each of her hands into the smalls of both Kurt and Rachel's backs and shoved them towards the already crowded elevator. "Like hell my girl has a fiancé. More like a stalker! Move it!"

They squished themselves onto the elevator simply because Mercedes would not wait on another one.

  


* * *

Once they reached the second floor, Mercedes hunted around for a nurse, while Kurt stood with Rachel as they hung back a little and let their friend be the pushy, abrasive one. Two years earlier, Rachel's father had had his appendix rupture, and he'd been in ICU for a few days. They didn't just let people in to visit ICU patients, but Rachel knew that Mercedes wouldn't rest until she knew their friend was okay. (Normally she had no problem being the annoying, relentless one, but this was Mercedes' role as Quinn's best friend, so Rachel knew to give her free rein.)

"Holy Mother of God," Kurt breathed, his fingers reaching out to grip Rachel's arm. She looked up at him and then followed his lustful stare to a police officer who stood near the nurses’ station. He was leaning against the wall and just as Rachel noticed him, he noticed Mercedes, and his body stiffened like he recognized her.

Kurt's fingers were digging into her flesh painfully because the man was beautiful. Like, _an amazing specimen of manhood_ beautiful. Like _make your ovaries_ (and in Kurt's case his honorary ovaries) _flip over and your womb long to carry his baby_ beautiful. Rachel spent her time in the company of thespians, musicians, and dancers, a relatively pretty group of people, but she could honestly say she'd never seen anyone quite as extraordinary as him.

His bone structure alone, from across a large hallway, was noteworthy.

His hand stretched out and touched Mercedes' elbow, causing her to turn toward him. Kurt and Rachel were just far enough away that they couldn't make out the low words he said. Rachel's eyes fixated on his pouty bottom lip anyway, as he spoke to Mercedes, lingering when he pursed both lips together as she responded to him. Rachel watched as he scrubbed a hand through the short hair on his head. It wasn't long—an inch, maybe an inch and a half, but there was a slight curl to it. She imagined he had to keep it short because he was an officer of the law, but if it was just a little longer it would—

Her train of thought was abruptly derailed when Kurt elbowed her hard in the ribs. She jerked her gaze towards him again to see him smirking at her. “You’re staring,” he whispered.

Then Mercedes turned around, a furious expression on her face. "Can you believe this ya-hoo?" she said loudly, jerking a thumb over her shoulder. "He lied about being Quinn's fiancé because he was _worried_ about her." Mercedes made quote marks with her fingers and rolled her eyes.

Rachel found her voice and the ability to move her feet at precisely the same moment. She rushed forward and said, "I think that's unbelievably sweet, actually."

Mercedes rolled her eyes again and murmured, "Mmmm-hmmm," with just the right amount of attitude to show she didn't find it sweet at all. Rachel looked quickly at the policeman and offered him a bright smile.

At close range, he was even more attractive. His eyes were somewhere between green and golden brown, and she wished he would look at her longer so she could figure it out.

"Look, lady," he said, his voice smooth like honey, but devoid of emotion, and directed at Mercedes. "I just didn't want the nurses and doctors make me hang out in the waiting room, and since your friend was here _all night_ before you found out where she was, at least she wasn't alone."

Mercedes turned on him and Rachel feared she was going to punch him or something, so she grabbed her arm as Mercedes said, "Maybe if you'd answered her phone sooner, instead of ignoring the calls from all her friends, you wouldn't have had to lie to keep her company!"

Kurt's voice brought an end to the argument. "Is Quinn okay? I think that's the only question that truly matters."

"Yeah, she's okay," the officer said, looking gratefully at Kurt. "They expect she'll wake up any time. They said she's not really in a coma, exactly—like they can tell she's not that deeply under because of her reflexes—but they can't see any reason for her to still be unconscious."

Rachel glanced worriedly at Mercedes, who seemed to be relaxing slightly, before she looked back at him.

"I'll go find the doctor and have him talk to you so you don't have to take my word for it."

Impulsively, Rachel reached out to him. "You don't have to do that, we believe you—" Mercedes snorted and Rachel stepped between her and the policeman, her eyes landing on his name tag. "Officer Puckerman?" she questioned, flashing him another winning smile. "We appreciate everything you did for Quinn. Really." She squeezed her fingers around his forearm. The coat he wore must have made him hot because his skin seemed a little flushed and when she took a closer look at his chest ( _oh, my god, he's wearing a wifebeater,_ she thought) she realized he didn't have a regular uniform shirt on under his jacket, which was probably why he had it on even though the building was plenty warm enough.

He pulled his arm out of her grasp and took a step back. "All the same, let me find the doctor."

He turned and walked away. Rachel sighed. It was nearly as impressive watching him go as it had been seeing him from the front. Waiting until he disappeared around the corner, she whipped around to glare at Mercedes. "Did you have to be so rude?" she demanded.

"What _ever_ ," Mercedes replied. "Just because he's a fine hunk of man doesn't mean what he did isn't creepy. You gotta think about this, Rachel. Quinn's a pretty girl. We live in Chicago. Maybe _he's_ the one who did something to her."

Rachel shook her head and stomped her foot and then looked to Kurt for some solidarity. "He's a cop, Mercedes! He probably needs to ask her questions about what happened when she wakes up."

Kurt said nothing, just pursed his lips and looked back and forth between the two of them.

"He claims he was there when it happened, that he saw the guy who knocked her off the platform and that he jumped on the tracks to save her— "

Rachel nearly swooned at the image this information provoked and then wanted to smack Mercedes' face when she finished with: "—but that's a likely story!"

"Oh, for pete's sake!" Kurt said, huffily turning and marching over to the chairs in the designated waiting area. "Rachel thinks his attractiveness means he's an angel sent straight from heaven, but you're convinced he's Jack the Ripper because he's too pretty to look at. I'm guessing he falls somewhere in the middle. It seems awfully sad to me that he spent all night on Christmas Eve in the hospital with a complete stranger."

Rachel glanced at Mercedes again, who looked a little sheepish. "You have a point, Kurt," Mercedes said slowly. Then she added, "Or maybe that just proves I'm right!"

Rachel made an "Arrrggghhh" sound and walked away from her two friends. She followed the path that the attractive policeman had walked and she didn't look back, even when she heard Mercedes call her name.

* * *

She found him relatively quickly; the doctor’s offices were on the same floor, and Officer Puckerman stood to the right of a door with a plaque that read, “Jonathan G. Reiser, M.D.” He noticed her coming before she could say anything and he gestured. “Guy’s on the phone, but he’ll be out in a minute.”

Rachel shook her head as she came to a stop in front of him. “I wasn’t checking up on you; I came to apologize for Mercedes’ behavior. She’s just really protective of Quinn, and—“

He held up a hand to stop her. “I get it, you don’t have to explain. I get the feeling Quinn makes people feel protective of her. There’s something about her..." he trailed off and dropped her gaze, his eyes shifting away nervously.

Rachel felt a tinge of disappointment. “So you do know Quinn, then, don’t you?” And he was obviously smitten by her—protective of her, even, so much so that he could forgive Mercedes practically calling him a serial killer.

A very small smile touched his mouth, and Rachel got a glimpse of how the expression would transform his already beautiful face, but it didn’t quite blossom. “No, I don’t know her, unless you count seeing her at the same time every day as she catches the El. I patrol the train stations, and I’ve seen her a lot over the last few months. I’ve never actually spoken to her.” He paused. “Well, one time I said, ‘Good evening, miss,’ and she smiled at me. So you know, we go way back.”

This time he chuckled, but it was the saddest sounding laugh Rachel had ever heard. Biting her bottom lip, she resisted the urge to touch him again and instead moved to lean on the wall next to him. “You have a crush on her,” she said, smiling encouragingly.

He looked at her, his head jerking towards her as if what she’d just said was a surprise to him. Then he chuckled again and said, “Hmmmm. I guess so. I—well.” His eyes met hers more forcefully, and then he stopped talking, as though he’d been about to say something he was now second-guessing. He made the “Hmmm,” sound again, and Rachel couldn't help but think he probably had a nice singing voice.

Clapping her hands together, she bounced up and down just a little, which startled him, but that had been her intent. An idea was quickly forming in her head. He flinched away from her slightly as she said loudly, “Okay, we’re going to fix you two up! It’s so romantic, obviously. You have a crush on her, then you save her life, and when she wakes up, of course, she’ll fall madly in love with you, because she owes you her life! It’s perfect!” She giggled giddily at her own concoction, and his expression changed from surprise to extreme wariness. “No, seriously,” she said, reaching out and grabbing him by the upper arm. (His biceps felt ridiculously firm under her fingers, and he wasn't even flexing.) “I’ll get ‘Cedes and Kurt on board, and they'll totally help me— _us_. They’ll help us get you the girl of your dreams!”

He started shaking his head and said, “Look, I don’t even know you, and—“

The doctor’s office door opened and out came Dr. Reiser. “Okay, sorry to keep you waiting, Officer. Take me to see these friends of Miss Fabray’s?”

Officer Puckerman looked so relieved to see the doctor Rachel realized she was coming on a little too strongly—something that she often did. “This is one of them,” he said, pointing at her.

Rachel stuck her hand out and turned her focus to the doctor. “Hello, Doctor. I’m Rachel Berry. My other friends are waiting near Quinn’s room. Will we be able to visit her?”

“Certainly,” the doctor said, shaking Rachel’s hand. “We have to limit the time for now, but she’s already steadily improving. I’m sure she’ll wake up soon.”

He gestured for them all to move down the hall and began speaking about Quinn's condition. Officer Puckerman fell into step with them, on the other side of Dr. Reiser, and Rachel did her level best to listen to what the man was saying (something about traumatic brain injury and Quinn's reflexes being perfectly normal for a twenty five year old in good health), but really all she could think about was playing matchmaker.

There was something infinitely sad in this police officer’s face, and it would be her holiday mission to replace it with happiness and joy. If he wanted Quinn Fabray, she would make sure he got her. (She might even gift wrap Quinn; her blonde hair looked amazing with red ribbon in it. Rachel knew that because they'd done a musical version of _Little Red Riding Hood_ in their Theater Company the previous year. Quinn had been Red, and Rachel had portrayed the Wolf. It had been critically acclaimed.)


	2. Chapter 2

Puck had lived in Chicago all of his life, and had started his law enforcement career at the age of twenty-three. He'd been on the street for more than four years, and had been assigned to the Public Transportation Section most of that time.

He had seen all kinds of crazy. Drug induced, transient living that made people whacked out nut-jobs who treated a stranger as either A) their best friend or B) the shittiest piece of trash they'd ever met. Rachel Berry seemed to be completely coherent and not high on anything, and after knowing him for all of three minutes she was ready to set him up with her friend who happened to be in a coma.

Between that and the black girl's menacing demeanor, he was ready to bail on County General and wish Quinn Fabray a happy recovery. From way, way, _way_ across town. (She was gorgeous, but he was not a glutton for punishment.)

After the doctor told them they could go in and sit with Quinn for a while, Puck tried to excuse himself, but the kid, the obviously gay guy that trailed around after Rachel and Mercedes, got appointed to sit with Puck outside Quinn's room.

Rachel said with a broad smile on her face, "Do _not_ let him leave, Kurt." Then she spun on her heel and followed after Mercedes.

Puck and Kurt exchanged looks, and the only thing that made it bearable was the kid's commiserating expression. "Don't worry," he said, laughing heartily. "She makes everyone feel that way."

Puck couldn't help but laugh. Maybe it was the lack of sleep, or maybe this kid was just on the mark, but seriously. "She's kinda intense, yeah?" he asked as they sat down on some nearby chairs.

"You have no idea," Kurt replied, rolling his eyes in an eerily perfect imitation of Mercedes.

"You guys are all pretty tight, huh?" he asked. "Good friends?"

"Well," Kurt said, looking towards the door the girls had disappeared through. "We're in a Theater Group together. We put on plays—mostly musicals—and so there's a bunch of us. There are some strong relationships within the group that keep our core tight. See, there's me and Mercedes, and Mercedes and Quinn, then Quinn and Rachel and Rachel and Tina, our other soprano. Then Tina's tight with her husband, Artie, and Artie's best friend is Mike, whose is also very close to Matt. Our director, Will, is sort of the glue that holds us all together, and we're like a dysfunctional high school clique half the time, but we're all very committed to our Company, and we've made a name for ourselves. Quinn being sick could cause a problem. We're a little short on understudies at the moment."

Puck could only blink stupidly as he digested all that information. Certainly Kurt felt no intimidation when it came to policemen, and with probably only one more question, he'd get the kid's whole life story. Before he could ask him anything else, he heard, "Puck?"

He turned and saw Hudson coming towards him. He stood up and gave his partner a stern glare. "Dude, what are you doing here? Don't you have your family Christmas thing?"

"Yeah, man, I do, but I'm worried about you. And my mom's cool, she understands."

"Hello, I'm Kurt Hummel," Kurt said, sliding in between Puck and Hudson. Puck couldn't help the grin that widened his mouth. This guy was a hoot.

"Finn Hudson," Hudson replied, shaking the guy's hand. He gave Puck a questioning look over the kid's head and Puck just shrugged.

Just then Rachel and Mercedes emerged from Quinn's room and Kurt turned towards them anxiously. Before Puck knew it, the whole group of people had been formally introduced (he explained that while he had been on the tracks saving Quinn's life, Hudson had been running after the attacker, and then Hudson assured them that the guy had been caught, and he had confessed) and before Puck could say anything else, Rachel invited them both to her house. "We're just having a little holiday dinner later today. And we would love both of Quinn's heroes to be there with us." She looked at them expectantly. "Unless you have other obligations, of course?"

Puck didn't have anywhere to go—not that that was something he made known to anyone, but the fact was he had to go home and get some sleep because he was back on that evening for work. Hudson also begged off, telling them how flattered he was, but his mother was expecting him for their own Christmas dinner.

They all seemed genuinely disappointed, and when Rachel tucked a business card into Puck's coat pocket, she leaned up and kissed his cheek. "You should call us. Really. We'd love to have you over, even if it's not for the holiday."

Puck thanked her and nodded to Kurt and Mercedes (who didn't seem to be so suspicious of him now). As they walked away, Hudson gave Puck a sidelong glance. "That brunette? What was her name? Wow. She’s super pretty."

Puck palmed the business card in his pocket and looked at his partner. "Rachel," he said. "Rachel Berry."

* * *

Christmas Day night passed without any excitement, and as Hudson and Puck patrolled their assigned areas, Puck kept waiting for his partner to bring up his behavior from the night before. But Hudson said nothing, and the night went on.

It was when they were back at the Station House changing into their street clothes that Puck finally couldn't hold it in anymore. "Dude, don't you have anything to say to me about last night?"

Hudson looked up from the backpack he was pulling out of his locker. "Huh?" he asked, looking confused.

" _Last night?_ You know, when I totally freaked out and acted like that woman was someone I know instead of keeping my head and—"

Hudson put his hands up defensively, said, "Whoa, dude," and then slung his bag down on the floor.

Puck stopped talking because he realized his voice was rather loud and a few of the other officers coming off shift were looking at them over their locker doors. Puck sighed and shoved his own locker door shut in irritation. "Sorry," he muttered. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Puck, wait," Hudson gestured at the bench that sat in the middle of the aisle between the two rows of lockers. "Sit a minute, okay?"

Puck hesitated, the teenage rebel that still lived within him wanted to say _fuck it_ and storm out of the changing bay without a backward glance. The difference now was of course that adult Puck realized he was only mad at himself, not anyone else, and to walk out would mean to walk out with himself (which didn't solve anything).

Hudson looked at him seriously as Puck sat down next to him. He was just too _nice_ , Puck found, and he almost wished he'd been partnered up with some asshole that would create a space for all his anger to funnel into. "You've been through something I can't even imagine—and Lieu told me about it, and assigned me to you because he knew I'd be able to handle whatever happened. He also knew I'd be able to tell if it was interfering with you doing your job. Puck," he said, his hand reaching out to grasp Puck's shoulder firmly. "You're doing fine. Seriously. I wouldn't just tell you that to get on your good side and stuff. If I thought you were endangering me, or the public, I would tell you. I would do something about it. You're way harder on yourself than I ever could be."

His hand squeezed Puck's shoulder reassuringly, and Puck felt his eyes prick a little. _Fuck_. He wasn't gonna start crying over this, was he? He knew he'd never be able to look Hudson in the face again if that happened. He wasn’t seeing the shrink anymore though, and there was no one else to tell, so he told Finn what had happened. "I think I sort of saw her as my mom there for a second. I mean, it wasn't exactly the same, but I just..." Shaking his head, he looked back at his partner and felt somewhat relieved of the burden. "I'm glad the bastard was caught," he said.

"Me, too," Hudson said. "And I understood why you...reacted the way you did. It made sense. But you know what, we saved her life, and that's all that matters. Okay? We cool?"

Nodding, Puck felt like an overgrown girl, but also a bit grateful that Hudson didn't have any doucheyness in him. "Yeah. Thanks, man. Seriously. You're a really great partner."

Hudson smiled. "So are you. I can't think of anyone I'd rather have getting my back."

Puck cleared his throat and stood up. "Okay, enough of that. If we keep on this, we're gonna have to go get a beer together just to prove we're not gay."

He said it with a smile and Hudson grinned in response, before also clearing his throat and speaking in a slightly deeper voice. "Wanna go to a titty bar?"

Puck laughed and shook his head. "No, I gotta go."

Hudson grabbed his bag off the floor. "You're going to the hospital, aren't you?"

Shooting him a sheepish grin, he asked, "So what if I am?"

"Find out if that brunette's single, will ya? Her friend? You can have the blonde, and I'll have the brunette, and it will be such an awesome story to tell everyone when they ask us how we met."

"You know who's single?" Puck asked, as they walked out of the locker room. "That Kurt guy, and I think you are totally his type. Did you see how excited he was to meet you?"

"Shut up, dude. You're ruining my fantasy here."

* * *

Puck stopped at a store on his way there and picked up a bouquet of flowers. When he got to the hospital, he found out that Quinn still hadn't woken up, but the nurse (the one who'd been in the ER the night before who still thought he was her fiancé) working the ICU told him he could sit with her as long as he liked, since she was in a private room now.

It was 8 o'clock in the morning, and though he didn't mind working the third shift, he was fairly exhausted. He sat down in the chair next to her bed and watched her sleeping for a while before his own eyelids became so heavy he couldn’t keep them open.

One second he was thinking he should just get the hell out of there and go home to sleep and the next he was being woken by a loud whisper. "Oh, that's the sweetest thing I've ever seen!"

His eyes fluttered and he saw Rachel Berry standing in the doorway of Quinn's room, the nurse at her side obviously showing him off like a museum exhibit. He jerked himself all the way awake and sat up suddenly. His neck cracked loudly and he checked his watch. It was almost noon.

"Hello, Officer Puckerman," Rachel said, smiling widely.

Rubbing his fists over his eyes, he stood up and mumbled, "Hello." Getting his feet steady under him, he moved towards the door. "I'll get outta here, so you can..."

The nurse smiled and exchanged some sort of smirky glance with Rachel before walking away and Rachel came further into the room, approaching him carefully. "Oh, don't leave on my account. I already told Quinn all about you yesterday. You know what they say about coma patients, it's very possible she can hear everything that's being said, so when she wakes up, she'll be totally primed to fall in love with you."

He rolled his eyes; he simply couldn't help himself. This girl was _crazy_. Sweet as hell, but crazy. And he needed to not be a party to it, for sure. "Look, Rachel, you're a real nice girl, but—"

She put her hands on her hips and lowered her chin as though preparing for some sort of unseen battle. "What is your first name?" she interrupted.

Puck shook his head, mostly because he had no idea where that question had come from, but he answered automatically. "Noah."

"Noah. Noah Puckerman. Hmmmm," she said, eyeing him from head to toe. "I like you in regular clothes, as opposed to your uniform—though your uniform is quite sexy. You're very attractive, you know. We can do a lot with you. Kurt will have all kinds of style ideas, so when Quinn wakes up, you'll be in this perfect package that she cannot possibly resist."

"Rachel," Puck said, trying to take a wide circle around her to get closer to the door and escape. "Really, you're a great girl, and sweet and all, but I don't really—I just came by to see if she was doing better, I'm not—"

"Oh, pooey! You're here because you _like_ her. And what's not to like? She's gorgeous. A little superior sometimes, but then again, who isn't, right? She's quite a good singer, and an excellent dancer, and she loves animals—totally a member of PETA, and she's—"

"Look," he said loudly when it seemed like she might just talk for-fucking-ever. "I don't want you to set me up with her. Okay? Do you hear what I'm saying?"

She finally shut up, and he wanted to shout _hallelujah_. Her cheeks colored slightly, and then she bowed her head, breaking their eye contact. "I'm sorry, Noah," she said softly. "I know I can be overbearing, and well—my friends would just call it 'Being Rachel Berry,' and you're just not used to it, is all. But if you start hanging around with us, you'll get used to it," she said hopefully, bringing her eyes back his.

There was something that happened right then—Puck couldn't say he knew exactly how to explain it—but as she stared at him, seemingly imploring him into some sort of strange relationship with her (and all of them), he felt a tightening in his gut that had nothing to do with Quinn's beauty, and was obviously not put off by Rachel's batshit craziness.

It also wasn't a feeling he'd had in a long while—desire for a woman—the driving force that had propelled him through his life since about the age of 13. (Until recently.)

Suddenly, Rachel stood right in front of him, looking up into his face because she was pocket-sized (he hadn't noticed how small she was, probably because her mouth was so big), and her hands gripped his forearms. "I'm sorry, really. I promise to stop trying to play matchmaker. But come out with us tonight. Mercedes, Kurt, and I are going to an event this evening—it was something Quinn was supposed to do, but obviously can't now. I've agreed to fill in for her, and you should come. Consider it an opportunity to get a glimpse of her life. Maybe after you see it, you'll want to—you'll agree to my grandiose plan."

Her eyes were a deep brown, and so dark they seemed fathomless. He'd never been around someone who exuded so much energy, even though he'd grown up with a single, Jewish mother who would have happily run his life if he'd given her the chance. With a sinking sensation in his belly, he couldn't help but answer yes when she pleaded, "Please, Noah! Say you'll come. It will be fun, I promise!"

She squealed loudly and threw her arms around his neck after he agreed. "Yay!" she said, hugging him tightly. "Do you still have my business card?" she asked as she let go of him. When he nodded, she said, "Okay, give me a call around five tonight, and I'll give you directions to the church."

He followed her out of Quinn's hospital room. "Wait, it's a church thing?"

"Yes, I'm performing at Quinn's Baptist Church. It's their Christmas program. They have their Sunday night worship tonight, and even though Christmas was yesterday, their theme is obviously still going to be Jesus's birth."

Puck hesitated. He didn't want to look like he was trying to get out of it, since he'd already agreed, though he really thought she'd tricked him with some womanly magic he couldn't quite pinpoint. "I'm Jewish," he said.

"Oh, that's not a problem! So am I!"

* * *

Rachel Berry had, since a very young age, been destined for greatness. This was something she'd known (and been told repeatedly by her two gay dads), and she embraced it. She knew she was a good singer— _good_ being the understatement of the century, perhaps, but after she'd graduated from the U of I-Chicago three years previously, she had vowed to exercise humility in her life. Arrogance and an overbearing personality had cost her some relationships over the years—both romantic and platonic—and she had begun to realize that achievement at any cost was actually too high a price to pay. She wanted to be successful, of course, but she also wanted to have friends, and lovers, and people in her life that cared about her for who she really was, not because of her talent.

So after college, she, Quinn, and Mercedes had found the Schuester Theater Company, become members of it, and they'd taken their small society within the southside of Chicago by storm. They were famous, at least within that area, and most days, Rachel found it to be enough. None of them were making a lot of money (in fact most of them had to do side gigs to make ends meet), but they were doing what they loved, singing and dancing and acting, and how many people actually got to do that?

Rachel knew she was a very lucky girl.

On Christmas Day, she sat in a hospital with a girl who had been one of her best friends through the last few years of her life as she lay in a coma. Though Quinn was not always easy to be friends with, Rachel loved her dearly. She was just as competitive as Rachel, and they tried to call it a friendly rivalry because to call it otherwise would just cause trouble.

Rachel loved Quinn, she really did. When she didn't, you know, hate her. Quinn was blonde and green eyed, and beautiful beyond measure. Rachel could out sing her, sure, but she was never going to be prettier, and even in the theater, people tended to gravitate towards outward beauty.

Not to say that Quinn had no inward beauty, because of course she did. She was just a bit snobby, and Rachel believed, somewhat insecure because she came from a small farm town in Ohio. She didn't have a chip on shoulder per se, but nobody ever brought up her origins without getting a lecture on the benefits of small town living, and how it gave her greater perspective on the world.

As she sat watching Quinn sleeping, her face serene and unimaginably beautiful, even with seventeen stitches across her forehead, all of those petty feelings of jealousy seemed to evaporate. Quinn had been the friend in college that Rachel had needed; someone who was unflinchingly honest and who, in the middle of an argument, had told Rachel that if she wanted to get anywhere in life she had better stop stepping on people less talented than she was because what goes around comes around.

Rachel couldn't see any sense in this happening now to Quinn. She didn't deserve to be hurt, and she didn't deserve to have time stolen from her. The idea that had sprung up in her mind when she'd stood in the corridor with Officer Puckerman seemed to curl through her mind like a snake, picking up momentum as it went. Maybe she had somehow brought this down on Quinn. Someone had picked up on her petty kinetic energies, the hateful thoughts she sometimes had about her friend, and they had caused this terrible thing to happen to her.

Fixing Quinn up with the brave man who had saved her seemed like the most unselfish thing she could do. It would be selfless because from the first moment she'd seen him, she had wanted him for herself. Being willing to put them together would cancel out any negative thing she'd ever thought about Quinn, and their happiness could be her reward.

Five minutes in his presence was enough to know that something had made him terribly sad. Quinn could take that away from him; Quinn could give him a reason to smile, and light up his life. They could be one of those couples who were so ridiculously good looking that their children actually came out ugly.

Rachel laughed quietly to herself at that thought. Then she leaned over and kissed Quinn's cheek. "I've got such a surprise for you," she said softly. "Best gift ever."

* * *

Noah was a good Jewish name. That's all she could think about as she left the hospital and walked to the El to catch a train back to the theater. (She lived in the little apartment over it.) She'd heard his partner call him 'Puck' when he'd come to the hospital the day before, and to look at him, she could see how a nickname like that would stick. (She was certain it had nothing to do with Shakespeare.)

He might have even been the kind of guy in high school who beat up other kids when they called him by his real name. But she thought Noah was lovely, and unless he corrected her, she intended to call him that. If she had her way, he was going to be in her life for a good long while (though she tried not to think about he and Quinn getting so serious that they had those ugly babies she'd imagined the day before), so having a plan as to how she would handle everything would come in handy.

She would let Kurt and Mercedes navigate their own relationships with him; she would just be the supportive cheerleader, silently plotting his life without him knowing it. Undoubtedly, since he didn't know her well yet, he actually thought she wouldn't be matchmaking anymore since he'd asked her to stop.

She just wouldn't be so vocal about it, is all. What he didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

After she got home, she checked to see the light flashing on her answering machine. She pushed play and Mercedes’ voice came over the line. "Hey, babe. Quinn's parents still can't make it in. They were just going to drive, but apparently there is some blizzard in western Ohio that's preventing them from getting out in a car, or a plane. I told Judy I'd call her with daily updates, but it sure would be nice if Quinn would just wake up like the doctor keeps saying she will.

“Also, Kurt talked to Will, and Will has found a replacement for Quinn—someone he apparently gave the script to. We’ll see how fast she can memorize. Anyway, do you want me and Kurt to come get you for the Bible Study thing, or do you want to meet us there? Give me a call. I tried your cell but it's doing that weird thing again where it won't let me leave a voicemail. We're on our way to the hospital now, catch ya later, babe."

Rachel dug into her purse automatically and checked the voicemail on her cell phone. There was nothing there, and she started to get paranoid. What if Noah had called already? Granted, she told him to call at five, and she'd just been with him, so it was unlikely that he would call her so soon, but what was she going to do if her phone wasn't working? She didn't want to miss his call, and she had no way of getting a hold of him. (Her business card only contained her cell number, not her landline.)

She fixed herself some lunch and turned on the television as she worried about that. Finally she decided she just had to be positive that he would call when she told him too, and she wouldn't miss the call because she’d have her phone right next to her and up to its full volume. His expression had been a mixture of eagerness and reticence, but she had a feeling that eagerness would win out.

* * *

Rachel didn't own a car (both an economical and environmental choice), hence Mercedes' offer to pick her up. The Baptist Church where Quinn attended was only five blocks from the theater, which on a normal day wouldn't be a big deal. Rachel walked much further than that every day in an effort to stay in shape, but for this performance she was wearing a silk dress that was too thin, even with her overcoat on, to keep her warm at all in the December weather. So she agreed that her friends should pick her up.

Noah had called at 5:06 (not that she watched the clock every minute from like about 4:30 on) and she told him the address of the church.

"Oh, sure, I know where that is," he said.

"Are you a Chicago native, or a transplant?" Rachel asked.

"Born and raised. What about you?"

"I'm from Springfield, but I've been living in the city for about eight years."

"U of I?"

She laughed. "Yes, how did you know?"

"They have that performing arts school there. I thought about it, once upon a time."

"Did you really?" she asked, truly shocked.

"Oh, sure, every guy wants to be a rock star, right? I had my guitar, and my little notebook with scribbles in it. Then I realized college involved a lot of shit that didn't have anything to do with music. I lasted almost a whole year."

Rachel was practically fanning herself at this news. He played the guitar. Which meant he sang. He wrote songs at some point; maybe he still did, in his spare time. "So you dropped out of college?" she asked, trying not to sound as breathless as she was.

"Yeah, I bummed around a bit, went to Mexico, got a parasite, came home and my mom was all, 'Noah, you have to do _something_ , this is not acceptable,' and so I enrolled at the Police Academy. The rest is history."

Torn between commenting on the light-hearted, disgusting part (the parasite) and asking him more about the huge decision to become a cop, she hesitated just a moment and before she could decide, he continued on, "Anyway. 6:30, on Turner Avenue?"

"Yes. Kurt and Mercedes will be there too, so you'll have someone to sit with."

"So we'll be the Jew and Gay section?" he asked, and she could hear the smile in his voice.

"Well, Mercedes is a Christian too, so you'll be equally represented. But don't worry, Mercedes won't let anyone be mean to you." She laughed as she said, "I mean, you are going to wear your yamika, aren't you?"

"Oh, of course," he said sarcastically, giving it right back to her. "I think that will really top off everyone's Christmas, don't you? Or they'll all go apeshit and try to convert me. Either way, it might distract from your performance, so if you're trying to get out of it..."

Rachel was laughing so hard, she actually felt embarrassed, as though she were being blatantly obvious that she found him so attractive. It was like every next thing he did, he just proved to be that much more wonderful. Clamping down on her behavior, she managed to grit out, "Well, maybe you're right. We don't want to incite a riot."

"So the yamika stays home?"

"I think that's for the best," she replied solemnly.

He laughed, but it sounded odd, under used. "You got it, babe. I'll see you in a bit."

Rachel's breathless goodbye suddenly had nothing to do with laughter.

* * *

Puck had gone to a Christian church once, when he was about 16. His then-girlfriend, a beautiful Hispanic girl named Santana, belonged to a long line of Catholics. He only did it to get into her pants (totally worked) and to make her father look at him with less hatred (didn't really help). The Catholic church had been austere and intimidating with a crucifix hanging up front and a lot of depressing music coming mournfully from the organ at the front of the chapel.

The Baptists? Well, they seemed to be a bit more cheerful. As Kurt and Mercedes led him to a pew near the front, he noticed the stucco walls were painted a light shade of yellow. The room was brightly lit with overhead chandeliers, and though it was dark outside already it felt like mid-morning inside the building. At the front of the room a large golden cross hung far above their heads between two giant Christmas trees that were traditionally decorated. What Puck was most grateful for was that the cross was empty; there was no bleeding, dying man looking painfully up towards heaven to make him shift uncomfortably. Several people said hello to them, shaking their hands and wishing them a Merry Christmas.

Rachel was nowhere to be found, and Puck realized he really wanted to see her. He felt fine in Kurt and Mercedes' company, as both of them were friendly, but Rachel was the one who had invited him. He wanted her to know he was there.

Kurt seemed to notice him looking for her. "She's backstage. I'm sure she insisted on making some sort of entrance. This is a performance to her, you know, not a voluntary gift to the church."

Kurt had this funny laugh, a high, fake-sounding giggle that Puck had heard him use the day before. He found it really amusing; in fact, he thought Kurt was kind of hilarious in an unintentional sort of way. He glanced over at the guy and nodded to show he'd heard him. "Are you as uncomfortable as I am?" he asked.

Kurt's eyes widened, and he looked around furtively before leaning close and whispering, "Do you think they think we're a couple?"

Mercedes elbowed Kurt from the other side and muttered, "Behave," as Puck started laughing.

"Dude, I like you," Puck said, smiling fondly at Kurt.

"I know, but you're totally hetero. I actually get that a lot." He paused. "What about your friend, Finn? Does he like boys?"

Puck gave Kurt an expression of sympathy. "Sorry to disappoint you. He's pretty much a straight flier like me."

"Damn it," Kurt breathed, only to be elbowed by Mercedes again.

Just then, a man in a very nice suit stood up behind the pulpit and began speaking. Puck shifted his eyes forward, but he wasn't really listening. The guy was reciting the Christmas story, the same one Linus told on the _Charlie Brown Christmas Special_ , so it wasn't anything he hadn't heard before. Soon, however, the choir stood up and began singing "O Little Town of Bethlehem," and Puck let his mind drift even further.

The last two days had been surreal, in so many ways. He couldn't believe he was in a Christian Church with a bunch of people he didn't know to watch a crazy (Jewish) girl sing. On the other hand, it was the perfect distraction. This was his first holiday season without his mom, and his little sister was in New York, going to NYU. They'd talked about her coming home, but she had a boyfriend out there, and his family had invited her to spend Hannukah with them. Puck worked a lot of odd hours (by choice) so part of him was relieved when she seemed to not want to come home. He loved Bekah, and he knew she loved him, but it had just been a hard year for them both, and really they didn't know how to navigate it.

So they just _didn't_. He supposed that made him the suckiest brother on the planet, but he just couldn't deal with it, not right now.

Kurt nudged him when Rachel came walking out of the shadows—she did indeed make an entrance, though she wasn't dramatic and attention grabbing in the effort. She was, however, breathtaking. She wore a clingy, red dress that Puck wasn't all too sure was _church_ appropriate, though she was decently covered. She had black heels on her feet that had to be four inches tall, but then he remembered she was tiny, so she probably did it to make her legs look longer. Which they did; they were firmly muscled and mouth watering, actually, and he had this sudden flash of them wrapped around his waist.

Coughing nervously, he shifted in his seat because his slacks were growing a little tight in a certain area. Kurt smiled at him, and Puck prayed to the Christian God or the Jewish one, whoever was listening, that nobody could see his obvious discomfort.

"Please welcome our special guest tonight," the pastor said into the microphone. "Our own Quinn Fabray is in the hospital right now, fighting for her life—please remember her in your prayers—" Puck looked at Mercedes who mouthed _no idea_ since they all knew Quinn wasn't near death. "Quinn's good friend, Rachel Berry, has agreed to sing for us in her place tonight."

The crowd clapped politely and then the pastor handed Rachel the microphone. "Good evening," she said. "The song I've selected for tonight is the song I know Quinn had planned on singing for you. I happen to know it's her favorite, and I dedicate this to her."

Puck found it all a bit cheesy, but at least it took the edge off the sexual tension that had broadsided him.

When Rachel opened her mouth and sang out, "O Holy Night," without any instrumentation, all thoughts of cheese fled his mind.

Puck considered himself a musical person. He had a healthy appreciation for most forms of music, and he understood what it was like to be moved by something; to hear a performance and get chills, or to just know that what he'd heard was the best rendition of that song ever, or what have you. (In high school, he'd gone to a Radiohead concert, and he'd become convinced that his own life would never be complete unless he could live one like Thom Yorke's.)

Listening to Rachel sing a Christian hymn somehow became one of the most amazing moments of his life. She sang, "Fall on your knees! Oh, hear the angel voices!" and he knew that he was hearing something that deserved to be classified as heavenly.

It was otherworldly in a way that sent shivers down his back, and made all the hair on his body stand up. The entire room felt electric.

The choir joined her in the middle of the song, but then fell back again as she came up on the finale, and when she belted out, "Christ is the Lord! Then ever, ever praise we, His power and glory ever more proclaim!" Puck would never have known that she didn't believe it with all her heart. The final notes sounded just as the opening ones had, with only Rachel's full sweet voice, and no accompaniment. "O night, O Holy Night, O night divine!"

The final note lodged somewhere near his heart, which thundered in his chest, and the only thing that made him feel okay about having such a transcendent experience in a Christian church was the dead silence that followed her final note. It must have lasted a full fifteen seconds; the entire audience seemed to be holding their collective breath, and then someone on the far right clapped, and a wave of applause filled the room.

Feeling as if he'd just run the length of Michigan Avenue, Puck looked over at Kurt and Mercedes and watched as they surreptitiously wiped tears from their eyes. Kurt patted Puck's leg sympathetically. "Fucking amazing, right?" he whispered.

He literally could not speak, and the only words that formed in his mind were _holy_ and _shit_. He pressed a hand to his chest and looked back just in time to see Rachel walk off stage, waving to the crowd as she went.

The feeling that his life would never be the same wasn't a new one after the things he'd already experienced this year; but right now, at this moment, it was the most powerful, pleasant thought he'd had in a long, long time.


	3. Chapter 3

Rachel slid into the pew with them before the end of the program, sitting on the far side of Mercedes. She smiled at Puck when he caught her eye, but that was the extent of their interaction.

He was actually thankful because he was trying to come up with the words that would convey just how moved and impressed he was with what she had done. But even twenty minutes later, as a closing prayer was offered on the service, he still had nothing that even seemed to scrape the surface.

Coffee and snacks were served in the adjoining room to the worship hall, and everyone started moving slowly in that direction. As Puck got out into the aisle, Rachel's hand curved around the inside of his elbow. "I'm so glad you made it," she said enthusiastically.

"Me, too," he said, stooping just slightly so she could press her lips to his cheek. He knew he was supposed to kiss her likewise, but he sort of froze, his mouth not doing what his brain told it to, and his hand hanging in the air above her waist.

She drew back, the wide smile he was quickly becoming used to flashing up at him. She had dark eye make-up on, and it made her eyes more sultry; something about the way she looked at him made him very aware of how lost he could become in her gaze.

He had thought Quinn Fabray was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen, but he was now seriously reconsidering it.

"Are we really going to mingle here?" Kurt asked, looking a bit bored by the idea.

"Just one cup of coffee," Rachel said admonishingly. "Then I want to go see Quinn and tell her about it. Are you free, Noah? Can you go to the hospital with us?"

"Yeah, sure, uh—yeah, no problem," he said, realizing the moment had passed. Now he didn't even know how to bring it around so he could say _good job_ to her about her performance. As lame as that would be, at least it would be acknowledging in some small way how utterly amazing she was.

"Move then," Rachel said, giving Kurt a gentle shove so that he bumped into Mercedes and they all started to get into the traffic flow out of the chapel.

"See," she said, more quietly, just for Puck's ears. "I told you it would be fine, didn't I? You enjoyed it, didn't you?"

"Oh, my god, yeah," he breathed, the opportunity springing up unexpectedly. "You were _fucking amazing_ , to quote Kurt. I seriously thought my heart was going to explode." She blushed bright red and ducked her head. Without even realizing he'd done it, his hand was at the small of her back, needlessly directing her towards where Kurt and Mercedes were leading them. "How do you sing like that, Rachel? I'm just fucking floored really. I've never heard anyone sing that song better than you just did, and you're a Jew."

She looked up at him through her eyelashes, and the flirtatiousness of her smile sent a jolt of heat straight to his cock. "I'm an actress, Noah. This is what I do."

* * *

An hour later, they had to quiet themselves as they walked into Quinn's room. She still lay sleeping peacefully, and Puck couldn't help but compare her resting form with Rachel's in her red silk dress. (Fucking softest thing ever.) He'd been with a lot of women he'd had a hard time keeping his hands off, but he found it really unfair that she was wearing the sexiest dress in the universe while they were in a church. Then, standing next to her in the elevator on the way up to Quinn's room, he realized it would be too much no matter where they were, because it made him want to be alone with her. He was sure there was skin under that dress that was softer. The small of her back, the tips of her breasts, the inside of thighs. _Between_ her thighs.

It was a good thing Quinn’s hospital bed was right there to steady him as that thought cemented itself in his brain.

God, _he wanted her_.

He wanted to fuck Rachel Berry. (He couldn't remember the last time he'd wanted to fuck anybody.)

Rachel pressed a kiss to Quinn's cheek and took her hand. Then she softly began to speak, telling Quinn about the service.

A few minutes later, Mercedes suggested they sing for her, and Rachel looked up at Puck. "What's your favorite holiday song? And no fair saying _Dreidel, dreidel_ , they won't know it."

He smiled, laughing quietly under his breath. "How about _I'll Be Home For Christmas_. It was my mom's favorite."

Rachel nodded and then looked at Kurt and Mercedes. Kurt gave them a pitch, and they all started singing.

When they finished, they left quietly. Around this time, Puck usually had to be to work, but tonight was his night off. He didn't necessarily want to be alone, but he didn't want to get roped into some kind of group outing either. He just wanted to be alone with Rachel, and the way he was feeling, it was probably better that it was nearly impossible to take that notion further.

He'd only known her for two days. Granted, it had been an intense couple of days, but wasn't there some Sandra Bullock movie where she spouted off about relationships based on intense circumstances never working out?

And besides, the last thing he needed right now was to get into a relationship with a sexy, but completely crazy, woman. He suddenly remembered Hudson asking if Rachel was single, and before he could even control himself he blurted out, "Hey Rachel, do you have a boyfriend?" Her head whipped around so fast—they were out on the sidewalk headed back to where they'd parked their cars—that her hair hit Kurt in the face. "My partner—Finn, he was wondering. You know, if you were single."

"Shut up!" Kurt cried. "First Quinn picks up a boy by getting thrown on a train track and Rachel picks up one by being at the hospital to visit Quinn. When do I get a boy by making absolutely no effort whatsoever!?"

Rachel looked both embarrassed and annoyed, and Puck assumed the former was directed at his question and the latter had to do with Kurt's whining. Her eyes shifted between her friends and Puck and he could sort of see that she didn't want to answer. "I'm sorry," he said. "Totally none of my bus—"

"No, she doesn't have a boyfriend," Kurt said loudly. "And neither do I, Officer Puckerman. So if you find any gay boys in need, will you let them know about me?"

Puck couldn't help cracking up, though he tried to stifle it, just in case it might have offended Kurt. "Dude, I really wish I could help you out. Really. I don't know many gay people, though, honestly. Well, except my ex-girlfriend. Who's not so much gay as she is bi-coastal, you know? I'm sure she'd come back west if her east coast dalliance turns out to be a bitch or whatever."

Kurt was doing his high pitch giggle thing again and looking at Puck appreciatively. "Well, just don't forget about me, if it ever comes up."

"You got it. And dude, call me Puck. I don't really expect my friends to call me _Officer Puckerman_."

"Oh, look at that, girls. We're friends now," he said, winking at all of them.

With a small chuckle, Mercedes said regretfully, "We really have to go. We have rehearsal early tomorrow, to do a test run with Quinn's replacement."

"Oh, that's right, your theater group," Puck said, his gaze returning to Rachel, who had gone surprisingly quiet.

"Would you like to come to a show?" Mercedes asked. "We could leave a ticket for you at the box office. Consider it payment for saving our friend's life."

Puck dragged his eyes away from Rachel, who seemed to be looking everywhere but at him, and smiled at Mercedes. "That would be cool," he said.

"Great," Mercedes said. "Our next show is Tuesday afternoon. Could you make a 2 o'clock matinee?"

"Yeah, that would be perfect. I'll get off work at 8, and go home and sleep for a few hours beforehand."

"You should bring Finn," Kurt said, his hand reaching out to grip Rachel's arm. She looked up at him, but didn't seem too jazzed by the idea.

"But warn him," Rachel piped up, finally looking at Puck again. "It's a musical. It's a take on _Sweeney Todd_ , Kurt's idea, it's called _Shirley Todd_. It's an eccentric piece, so if musicals aren't your thing—"

"Rachel!" Mercedes said, and Puck watched the way the black girl screwed up her face, as if she'd never seen Rachel behave this way before. "We don't warn people off about musical theater—we invite them in and let them fall in love with it—"

Puck didn't need it explained to him anyway. "Ladies, really, I've been to musicals before. My mom loved Broadway stuff. I've seen _Wicked_ , like five times. And _Rent_ , and _American Idiot_ —and other stuff. I'm good with it. Totally. I'll see if Finn wants to come, I don't know if he's into that stuff, but he'd probably give it a try."

All three of them were looking at him with a tinge of awe in their expressions and he felt compelled to explain further, "My dad left when I was young. My mom didn't have anyone to take her to that shit, so I did it. Okay?"

"You're just full of surprises, Noah," Rachel said, her voice soft.

He grinned crookedly and gave her a lascivious wink. "Gotta keep everybody guessing."

* * *

After Mercedes and Kurt dropped her off at home, Rachel found that all she wanted to do was cry.

Something very odd was happening to her—and she very much feared that she wasn't just attracted to Noah Puckerman, but that she could quite possibly be falling for him. And she could not, absolutely _should not_ fall in love with him.

Because he had a thing for Quinn, and if Quinn had brain one in her head, when she woke up, she would snatch him up quicker than you could say _traumatic brain injury_.

She shouldn't fall in love with him because he wanted to set her up on random dates with men he knew. She shouldn't fall in love with him because he thought Kurt was funny, not annoying like so many other straight men she'd known and/or dated; she shouldn't fall in love with him even though he was gorgeous, Jewish, charming, beautiful, witty, funny, so, so, _so_ pretty, and completely off limits.

She fell on her bed, kicked off her stilettos and remembered his face as he told her that her singing had nearly made his heart explode. His compliment had nearly made hers do the same. And he had looked _divine_ in navy colored slacks and a matching sport coat with a light blue small patterned plaid button-down shirt. He'd been wearing a brown belt with a mid-sized buckle that had been calling to her fingers all night. She'd just wanted to slip her hand into the waist of his pants, wrap her fingers around that buckle and pull him up against her.

"Oh, gooodddd," she moaned, burying her face in one of her pillows. "Quinn, you have got to wake up! Right now!"

* * *

Puck went to see Quinn the next day, and there was still no change. Her parents were finally there, however, having been able to get a flight into O'Hare late the evening before. He introduced himself, but they both already knew who he was from her friends.

He felt like a famous person, especially when Quinn's mother wrapped her arms around his waist and started sobbing into his shoulder. (Famous, and awkward, yo.)

Then he thought about his own mother, and all the awkwardness faded away. He just hugged her tight and assured her that it was his pleasure to help her daughter.

"Now, if she'd just wake up, I'd really like to meet her, you know, formally," he said, cracking a smile at her father, who looked a little emotional as well. "Has Dr. Reiser been in to talk to you folks?" he asked.

"Oh, yes," Judy Fabray said, wiping her eyes with a tissue that her husband handed her. "It's just a waiting game, he said, but he's extremely confident that she'll wake up at any moment. I'm afraid to leave her, because what if that's the moment? I don't want her to be alone when she wakes up."

Puck murmured his agreement, and stayed and visited with them a bit longer. They told him a little about Lima, Ohio, where Quinn had grown up and they still resided. The conversation was polite and informative, but at least twice he had to bring himself consciously back to the room. He kept hoping that Rachel would just show up, even though he knew it was highly unlikely as they would probably be rehearsing all day with the new girl on their production.

That reminded him that he'd actually forgotten to invite Finn to the play—mostly because he'd been hesitant to bring Rachel up to his partner. He didn't really want to tell Hudson that she was single and available, but he wasn't so much of a douche that he couldn't at least make the offer. Excusing himself, he left the Fabrays to go down to the lobby and use his cell phone.

The message he left on Hudson's phone was just about the play, nothing about Rachel being single.

So shoot him. If Finn said he wanted to go, _then_ he'd tell him he should ask her out. But only if he was willing to sit through a musical first. It was obvious, right? Any guy who was going to hold water with Rachel would have to be cool with musical theater. It just made sense.

* * *

Over the next few days, Rachel saw Noah daily. He and Finn came to their Tuesday matinee (and both seemed to genuinely love it—and she didn't think Noah in particular would be capable of acting at that caliber, so he must have been telling the truth), and Lindy Russell, the girl who had taken over for Quinn was actually quite brilliant. It was such a huge relief to the whole company that Rachel had to remind herself that it wasn't the most important thing.

Quinn, for some unknown reason, would not wake up.

By chance, it seemed, a couple times Rachel just happened to be getting to the hospital as he was leaving, so then he would stay and they would chat with Quinn's parents, and then they would go get dinner in the hospital cafeteria. The food wasn't very good, and they both commented on that, but neither of them suggested going anywhere else.

By day three, she couldn't pretend to herself anyway, that it was an accident that she arrived when she thought (wildly hoped) he'd still be there.

Rachel didn't mind, as long as she got to spend time with him, and as long as he didn't bring up her dating his partner. (Which he didn't because she had turned Finn down when he asked her out after the show on Tuesday. She'd thanked him politely, but lied just a little when she said she didn't have time for a serious relationship, or even a casual one, at this time.)

They had a lot of things in common, but she also found that they could argue endlessly over small things like who or what qualified as a good band, the benefits of a college degree, and whether or not Reform Jews had the right idea about Temple or not.

On the fourth such day of their eating together she got brave enough to ask, "Noah, I noticed that when you speak of your mother, you refer to her in the past tense. Is she—has she passed away?"

He happened to be wiping his mouth with a napkin as she asked the question. His body straightened up just slightly, and then he nodded slowly, looking at her as he reached for his fork again. "Yeah," he murmured. "She was killed, almost a year ago."

"I'm so sorry," Rachel said, her throat strangely tight as she examined his expression carefully.

His lips twitched upward into a sad little grimace. "Thank you, Rachel."

When he didn't say anything else, she paused a beat. She wanted to ask what had happened, but she also didn't want to press him about something that appeared to be so painful for him.

"She was the victim of a violent crime," he said very quietly, and then he blew out a breath slowly, as if saying it out loud was something he had to practice. "She was a factory worker, my whole life, and one night she was leaving her work place—it was dark because she worked second shift—and this guy grabbed her." He shuddered, and Rachel couldn't stop herself from reaching over to put her hand on his free one. "Raped and murdered. They found her early the next morning, and that was that."

Rachel gripped his hand tightly, and his fingers closed around hers in response. "So that's why you're so sad," she said softly, almost to herself.

His eyes came up to hers swiftly. "It's that obvious?"

Rachel shrugged, trying not to upset him further. "I don't know if it's obvious to everyone. I sort of have a sixth sense about stuff like this. I grew up without a mother, maybe I'm more sensitive to it."

"What happened to your mom?" he asked.

"Oh, she didn't die, and as far as I know she's alive and well. My fathers' paid her to conceive me. They're gay, and they wanted a child, so she wasn't really a mother at all, just an incubator."

"Oh, wow," he said, and Rachel couldn't help laughing a little. He seemed stunned, and she wondered if it bothered him that she had two gay dads. He seemed to like Kurt so well, she thought he was pretty open-minded. "My dad took off when I was nine, so I know how you feel. It's tough. That's what's been so hard about my mom being gone—she was my only parent for the majority of my life, and I sort of took her for granted. I never even realized how much I relied on her, you know, until she wasn't there anymore."

Rachel made a sound of sympathy in her throat. "Of course. But then it has to be hard as a law enforcement officer, too. To feel like you might have protected her somehow, even though that's a completely irrational thought." He continued to look at her as though she freaked him out just a bit, but Rachel knew it wasn't her usual personality flaws causing it this time. He thought he hid himself from people, and maybe under normal circumstances, he achieved that quite easily.

Rachel Berry was not your average person, however. "Are you an only child, as well?" she asked, just to keep him talking, to keep him from retreating from her.

"Naw, I've got a baby sister, Bekah. She lives in New York." Rachel asked a million questions about his sister (she was twenty-one and in her third year at NYU) and he continued to talk freely for another twenty minutes or so.

They held hands the whole time. When Rachel realized this, she tried to pull away, but his grip tightened, and she didn't fight him very hard. (She supposed if she made a big deal about it, he would have let her go.) Their meal was long done, and now they were just loitering, and Rachel was starting to feel overwhelmed, yet again, by the depth of her feelings for someone she'd known less than a week. She finally extracted her hand when she told him she needed to see the time; checking her watch, she was surprised to see how late it was. "I've got to go. We're having a New Year's party at the theater. I need to finish cutting up some vegetables, and put my spinach dip together for it."

Noah looked a little stunned. "Dude, is it New Year's Eve?"

Rachel laughed as she stood up from the table. "Yes, it is. 2020 looms in your future, my friend."

"Damn," he said, following her with his cafeteria tray. "Time flies," he said as they dropped them off at the window.

Walking towards the elevator, Rachel was trying very hard not to invite him to the party, even though she couldn't think of a single person she would rather spend the evening with. Suddenly, his arm was slung around her neck and he pulled her against his side. "Are you gonna ask me what I'm doing with my boring life tonight, or do I have to call Kurt and get him to invite me?"

She had her tall boots on today, so her head was at just the right height to rest on his shoulder. She had to tip her neck back slightly to look up into his face, and she could feel her cheeks burning, both with embarrassment for not having asked him already, and with the pleasure of being so close to him. He smelled way too good. "Oh, sure, you should come. You can meet everyone you didn't get to after the show the other day—like Will, our director. You two probably share a lot of the same musical tastes," she said, wrinkling her nose at him in memory of some of their _Radiohead is the greatest band ever!_ conversations.

"Someday, I'll sing 'Creep' to you and you'll melt all over my feet and concede that they are the greatest band of all time," he said, squeezing her against him with a laugh as the elevator doors slid open.

Rachel murmured some indistinct sound that could be taken for agreement as he let her go to punch the bottom floor button. She wanted to tell him that he better never sing to her because she wouldn't be able to control herself, but she knew that was totally inappropriate, so she just bit her lip instead.

"So what time does this rockin’ party start?" he asked.

"Ten o'clock," she answered, and her voice sounded a little strange to her own ears.

"Should I bring something? Is it BYOB?"

She glanced over at him and scooted closer when the elevator stopped to take on more passengers. "Everyone is bringing something—so whatever you want. I'm sure there will be alcohol there—I think Will found some caterer that he worked a deal with. I'm bringing a vegetable plate."

She knew she sounded like an idiot all of a sudden, but she couldn't help it. How in the world was she supposed to survive a whole evening of him in a casual environment and not continue down this path that seemed to be leading straight to heartache-ville?

It was like watching a car wreck—only she was driving the car.

"I'll think of something," he said. "No problem."

When they said goodbye a few minutes later, Rachel waited for him to get in his car before she turned around and went back into the hospital. She ran up to Quinn's room, and found Quinn's parents were just leaving for the evening to go back to their hotel. Judy seemed surprised to see Rachel back again. "I just wanted to tell her something," Rachel said breathlessly. "I won't be staying long. I have to get ready for the party, but I just wanted to tell her..."

"Oh, sweetheart, you're so wonderful. Yes, go tell her what she's missing, and how she needs to wake up soon! We told her all about it, as well, and how you and Mercedes and Kurt invited us, so we could meet the people Quinny works with." Judy kissed Rachel's cheek, hugging her tightly as she promised to see her later.

Rachel stood at the foot of Quinn's bed, but said nothing. Tears streamed down her cheeks instead, and she found that no words could save her from herself.

* * *

Telling Rachel about his mom, talking about it sort of casually even, just saying it like it was: _this is my life, my mother was brutally killed, and I'm still here_ , seemed to lighten the burden.

He was fucking whistling while he pulled on a white button-down and a black vest to go with his jeans for the New Year's Party.

 _Whistling_.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so carefree. His mom was gone, but life moved on. And maybe it could still be good. Maybe he could eat dinner with a beautiful girl and she could hold his hand, and he could just be normal. He could just _be_.

Hudson had been seriously disappointed to be shot down so unceremoniously by Rachel that day after they'd watched _Shirley Todd: The Demon Beautician of Fleet Street_. Puck had shown his (fake) disappointment to just the right degree, saying, "Dude, that totally sucks. Maybe she's crazy busy," but part of him just knew.

Rachel had turned Finn down because of him. He would have bet money on it.

It had been a long time since he'd really been in a scenario where there was some kind of competition between him and another guy. When he was younger, he tended to like stealing girls away from other guys (he had the philosophy that you couldn't really _steal_ anyone anyway—they either wanted to be stolen, or they told you to hit the dirt), but he'd grown out of that. Finding a good girl, and settling down might be just the turn his life needed to take for him to find a level of happiness he'd never thought about before.

His mother had called it stability, when she lectured him on it, and now he finally understood why he needed it. He'd depended on her for that in his life, but had never created it for himself. He'd never cared before.

He'd be lying if he said he didn't think Rachel might fit the bill perfectly. She was definitely a high maintenance kind of girl—she talked a lot, and she had an opinion about _everything_. But hell if he didn't find her sort of fascinating, because practically any topic he brought up, she knew something about it.

And she had the uncanny ability to read him like she was some kind of goddamn psychic. He either had to think that was cool, or get the hell away from it. And because she also turned him on like no other woman in recent memory, he decided it was cool. Imagining how she might read him in bed had already left him horny and frustrated. But it wasn't enough to pleasure himself—he wanted it _with_ her, not just some kind of one-sided weirdo fantasy.

She wasn't a beautiful, untouchable girl who walked through his El station every night. She was someone he could talk to, and hang out with, and she could sing a fucking Christmas song and almost make him believe.

And if he had his way, he was so taking her to bed, tonight. Happy Fucking New Year, people.


	4. Chapter 4

  
Rachel dressed nervously for the party, trying on six different outfits before giving up and calling Kurt. He just said, "Jimmy Choo strappies and your cute black dress. Simple, sweetheart. You want to blow his mind, right?"

"What?" she said, feeling like a large picture window that everyone could see right through.

"Puck is bringing Finn tonight, right?"

She hesitated almost too long, but recovery over the phone was a bit easier than in person. "Sorry, I almost dropped the phone!" she gasped, making some fumbling sounds. "Yes, yes, I think— _hope_ —he's bringing Finn." She knew at some point Kurt would find out that she had turned Finn down when he asked her out (he was adorable, really, she could see the appeal, but he just paled in comparison to Noah for her), and he would probably flog her verbally until they were old ladies sitting on a porch somewhere, but she really couldn't worry about that right now. "I better go. I'll see you in a bit?" she asked.

"Very soon, m'dear. Mazel Tov."

Rachel hung up the phone and turned towards her disheveled bed. The black dress Kurt had referenced was already there because she'd tried it on and then thrown it down in a fit minutes earlier. Putting it back on, she went to her closet and got the silver strappy Jimmy Choo heels Kurt had also suggested. Putting them on, she looked at herself in the mirror.

She was never going to be satisfied because whatever she put on, she kept imagining (wishing, hoping) that Noah would, at some point in the very near future, take it off her, and that would never happen. "He is off limits," she told herself sternly. Besides, even if there were no Quinn, he wasn't interested in her, even if he'd held her hand for a half hour earlier that day. He was alone in a big city, still mourning the death of his beloved mother.

Swearing loudly to the empty apartment, she stomped across the floor and entered the bathroom. Applying her make-up and dabbing at copious tears at the same time was fairly ineffective. Going to the refrigerator, she pulled out a bottle of white wine and poured herself a glass. Sipping it slowly, she went back to the bathroom and washed her face clean.

Then she started all over again, and the end result was lovely.

As she gathered up her spinach dip and veggies to carry downstairs, she felt grateful that if at any time she couldn't handle what was going on, she could always escape quite easily to her own apartment. It was small, but it was handy, living right over the theater.

* * *

Puck arrived about half past ten, a bag of chips in hand. He saw Mercedes first and she approached him warmly, kissing his cheek and smiling widely. In a few hours, it would be exactly one week since he'd met her, and it was surprising the difference seven days could make. She led him to the bar where he dropped off his offering, and ordered a Jack and coke.

Kurt stood nearby sipping a fancy drink with a pink umbrella poking out the side of it. "Hello, Puck," he said, looking past Puck's shoulder as he approached. "Where's your taller, handsomer friend?"

Puck reflexively glanced over his shoulder. "What?" he asked.

"Finn? Where is he? Rachel said you were bringing him?"

Kurt looked disappointed even though Puck had been blunt about Finn's sexual preference. He was confused though, because he and Rachel had never discussed Finn, and if she had wanted him to bring his partner, she hadn't mentioned it. He had a split second to decide, to try to cover his own confusion, or the obvious lie Rachel had told Kurt.

Maybe she regretted turning Hudson down, and she thought she'd get a replay tonight?

Puck didn't really think that was it, but it was always possible. Hudson was a great guy; it had seemed pretty lame that she didn't at least agree to one date. Maybe she had figured that out.

"He had other plans," he said simply, and it wasn't a lie. Hudson didn't have trouble getting dates, and he'd had multiple options for the evening.

"Hmmm," Kurt said, sipping his fruity drink. "Rachel will be disappointed. She dressed especially for him."

That caught Puck just wrong, the sound of it somehow enraging a portion of him that had been mostly mellow for months now. The Unit shrink had explained that depression was characterized by a general apathy towards all things in life, work, social, spiritual, everything. Because Puck had always cared about his job, he figured the doc was misdiagnosing him. And he'd been pissed at the guy who'd been caught and charged with his mother's aggravated death—beyond pissed, angry in a way that couldn't be described. The jackoff was still awaiting sentencing, but he had been convicted, and that had helped some.

He was rapidly learning otherwise, because he had not had a feeling of jealousy surge through him like this since he learned Santana had cheated on him with _another girl_ , years ago, back in the 12th grade. (And back then, he'd been more irritated that she hadn't invited him along more than that she'd been getting some on the side.) "Why would she dress especially for him?" he demanded, and Kurt's eyes widened comically. "She fucking turned him down when he asked her out the other day."

"WHAT?" Kurt asked, his voice at a such a decibel that nearly everyone at the party turned to look at them.

Puck's eyes scanned the lobby, jarring from the crowd reaction and he found Rachel standing next to a curly-haired dude he recognized as the Company director. A smile swept over her face when their gazes connected, and he couldn't help himself, he fixed his eyes on her and slowly raked her body with them. If that's what she put on for Finn, it was too damn bad he wasn't there to see it. It wasn't anything fancy; in fact, he'd probably seen more overtly sexy dresses on half of the women standing around him right at that moment.

His gut tightened painfully anyway, because the simplicity of it just emphasized her beauty. The small curves of her breasts were highlighted by a sharp V that hit close to the bottom of her sternum, and he knew there was no way she was wearing any kind of bra. The skirt was short, skimming her mid-thigh, but the flow of the fabric swished as she moved. That's what made him realize she was walking towards him.

He brought his glass to his lips and drained it in two long swallows. Kurt's maniacal expression grew as he turned to watch Rachel approach them and then he looked back at Puck. "Oh," he said, his voice much quieter. "I totally did not see that coming," he muttered.

"Hi, Noah," Rachel said happily. Her eyes seemed brighter than usual, and that was quite a feat considering how they generally seemed to cut through him like a spotlight.

"Rachel," he nodded curtly. He was pissed, and knew he had no reason to be, not really, but that didn't change the fact that he was.

"Apparently Finn couldn't make it," Kurt said exaggeratedly.

Rachel's gaze skittered over her friend's face and her smile faltered just slightly as she looked back at Puck. He turned away and ordered another drink without commenting on Kurt's news.

"That's too bad," Rachel said, her voice a little too loud.

Once he had his new drink, he turned back, leaning negligently on the makeshift bar. "Yeah, I hear this was all for him." With his free hand, he indicated her body from head to toe. "It's too bad he won't get the visual stimulation."

Rachel's smile melted away entirely then, and she looked uncertainly at Kurt, who buried a grin in his drink. He pulled the straw from it and drank deeply from the wide lip of the glass.

It was a classic asshole move, one Puck had perfected years before, but hadn't actually used in a long time. He gave her the dirtiest look he could muster and said, "You know? The cockteaser is a lost art, really, Rachel. But I'll be sure to tell him what he missed out on."

He saluted her then, his forefinger crooked just slightly so that his middle finger was the one that really drew the eye of anyone watching him. Turning on his heel, he moved back through the crowd, but he heard Kurt call, "Oh, my god! That was appallingly dramatic, Puck!"

As he made his way through the sea of people, he saw Tina and Artie, and then Mike, who was chatting up the girl who Puck knew had replaced Quinn in their show. They all acknowledged him, remembering him from the backstage meet and greet after the matinee earlier in the week, as well as being the guy who had _saved_ Quinn.

He smiled tightly at them, and kept moving. The door was in sight, and if he could just get out of there, he could forget all the thoughts and feelings that had erupted in his head and chest ever since Rachel Berry barreled into his life. Just as he neared it, he saw Quinn's parents coming through it, so he abruptly changed direction and exited through a side door that (thankfully) was unlocked, but he had no idea where it went.

Once he closed it behind him, he stood for a second, just calming himself. The noise level immediately went down, and then he looked around and realized he was in a stairwell. A door to his right led outside, along the same wall as the other doors he'd been trying to get to, and the stairs on his left led to the upper floors of the theater.

He still had his drink in his hand, so he finished it off and then set the glass on the bottom step. Whoever cleaned this place up later would find it. Eyeing the escape route, he made up his mind. He'd leave, walk away and forget that he'd ever met any of these people.

He could just disappear, and nobody would ever know that he'd even been there. He could forget about how his world had consisted for months now of nothing except sadness and impotent rage, and that when he'd heard Rachel sing, he'd felt alive in every part of his body. He could forget that he finally understood that he _had_ been depressed, and that a girl with more enthusiasm than good sense had somehow awakened the part of him that had ceased to function with a terrifying phone call from a homicide detective nine months earlier.

His hand pushed against the swinging glass door only to find it locked. "Fuck," he breathed. He had no choice, he'd have to go back in, and possibly have to make nice with the couple from Ohio who thought he should get a fucking purple heart for pulling their daughter off the tracks.

He heard the door open behind him, so he turned around, plastering a smile on his face as he did so. The bigger he faked it, the quicker he could get out.

"What do you think you're doing in here!?" Rachel demanded. She stood in the doorway and gestured crazily with one hand. "Get the hell out! This is a private residence!"

"Well, pardon me all to hell," he drawled. The alcohol had definitely loosened his tongue, and he was unwittingly introducing Rachel to a version of himself that she had never seen before. "I was just trying to leave, believe me, babe."

He stepped forward, intending to push her out of his way and leave, but her flushed face contorted with fury and she moved at just the same moment. Their bodies collided and her hands came up so quickly, he was caught off guard. She gave him a hard shove, and she was surprisingly strong for such a little woman. He got off-center and flailed backward into the opposite wall.

She fully entered the hallway, slamming the door behind her. "I cannot believe you!" she shouted. "I've never been so offended in all my life! How dare you?"

Puck couldn't say he thought anything through after that. His hands were planted on the wall behind him in an effort to steady himself, but he launched himself across the small space until he had her pinned between the wall next to the door and his body. Jerking her face up with one hand, he felt gratitude beyond measure for the stupid (fucking sexy) shoes she was wearing because it made it easier to get his mouth on hers. He still had to bend down some, so he just slid his hand under her ass and pulled her the rest of the way up.

He'd been envisioning this moment for a few days now, what it would be like the first time he ever kissed her, but it didn't go anything like he'd planned.

First of all, she fought him like a madwoman, her arms and legs moving every direction, nearly causing him to lose his grip on her. She also sank her teeth into his bottom lip, and not in a sexy way. He jerked his head back and her open palm smacked the side of his head.

He pulled her tighter against him in an effort to keep her from kneeing him in the balls and she cried, "Let me go! I'll scream rape, and I believe you already know I’ve got great projection!"

He immediately stepped back. She dropped to the floor, flinging her arms outward to keep her balance. He caught the underside of her forearms in his hands, helping her as much as could.

Her shoes were very high (she seemed to own a lot of four inch heels), and the possibility of a broken ankle momentarily distracted him from how hot she was in them. Everything overwhelmed him all at once, and he rushed to apologize. "I'm sorry," he said. Once he was sure she wasn't going to fall over, he moved back another step. "I just saw you, and you look amazing, and Kurt said you were dressed like that for Hudson, and I think I went a little crazy."

She was staring at him with an expression that he couldn't decipher. "Okay, I _know_ I went crazy. But, fuck, Rachel, it can't be that big of a surprise. I haven't exactly been trying to hide the fact that I'm into you."

She still said nothing, so he repeated, "I'm sorry. Really." He pointed at the end of the hall. "If you'll just unlock the door, I'll leave and you'll never have to see me again."

She didn't look where he was pointing, but continued to stare at his face until he felt all the blood rushing into his cheeks. Then, without warning, she stepped closer to him, leaned up and wrapped a hand around the back of his neck.

She pulled his mouth to hers and kissed him. And this time, it was much more like what he'd imagined it would be. She had beautiful, full lips and a wide mouth, and she didn't hesitate in using her tongue first. He hauled her closer, both towards his chest and lifting her upwards again, and her arms wove tightly around his neck.

Her tongue slid along his as he met her halfway, and the taste of her exploded throughout his body. Blood rushed everywhere all at once, and he was painfully hard so quickly that the only way to find some relief was to spin them both around so that he could press her against the wall behind him. His hands cupped her ass, sliding down to support her thighs and she opened her legs instantly, creating that haven for him, the place where he fit perfectly against her.

She whimpered as their lower bodies came into contact, gasping for air as she ripped her mouth from his and he snapped his hips up into hers, desperately seeking the friction that would ease some of the pressure in his groin. "Fuck, Rach," he breathed. He plunged one hand into her silky hair to bring her mouth back to his, and their teeth clacked together. Then she caught his bottom lip gently and ran her tongue back and forth over the small wound she'd already inflicted.

That move sent him from urgent to _wildly_ urgent, and he groaned against her mouth. "Baby, I want you, right now. God, please, go to bed with me."

She tossed her head back, exposing her throat, and the small shadowy valley between her breasts seemed to lure his mouth downward. His hand moved to her shoulder to tug the material away so he could see her. _See her, touch her, taste her_ , in exactly that order, was the only thing his brain could process so it took her saying his name a few times before he actually realized she wasn't encouraging him, but trying to get his attention.

"Noah!" Her hand covered his as he slipped the gauzey material down her shoulder. "We..." his tongue ran over her collar bone and then he nipped at the tendon in her neck and she moaned and arched against him while still finishing her sentence with, "...can't."

His brain was blitzed, but those were not the words he expected to hear. "Why not?" he asked, finally lifting his head.

"Quinn..." she whispered. "Quinn's..." she said in a slightly louder voice, her eyes all blown and her lips already puffy from his kisses.

"I don't even fucking know Quinn. She doesn't have anything to do with this. Tell me you don't want me. _That's_ a reason to stop. Quinn's not—fuck, a freight train coming right through here is not a reason to stop."

There was a slight pause, and then she said, "I've had too much to drink." Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath.

"You don't seem drunk to me." Moving the hand at her shoulder to her face, he palmed her cheek and jaw so that he could look right into her eyes when she opened them again.

"I'm not drunk enough I'll forget what happens, I'm just drunk enough to not care that I shouldn't," she said in a great rush of air.

"Oh, you should, Rach. Trust me. You _should_." He pressed his lips to the corner of her mouth, and swiveled his hips purposefully into the juncture of her thighs. "I'll make it worth your time, believe me." One of her arms was still around his neck, her hand playing with the hair at the base of his skull and her fingers trailing down the back of his neck. It felt so fucking good, and turned him on even more, she might as well have had her hand inside his pants. He closed his eyes, imagining that for half a second before blocking it out. He was so ready, he was going to blow his load like a teenager if he didn't keep his thoughts under control. "Come home with me," he breathed, his mouth still caressing her bottom lip and chin with soft touches.

"I just live right up there," she said, pointing up the stairs, and he glanced up at the door at the top of the fairly long staircase.

He felt like he'd won the fucking lottery.

Dropping his forehead down on to hers, he kept kissing her gently. "Take me to bed," he commanded, his voice much softer than he meant for it to be. " _Rachel_."

She pressed her hands against his shoulders, and he reluctantly let her go, though he made sure that she had to slide down the front of him. There was no space between their bodies, and he choked back a groan as her belly brushed over his erection.

She pulled her skirt down, and shoved her hair back out of her face. Slowly stepping up onto the bottom stair, she ran her hand down his stomach, bending her fingers into the space behind his belt buckle. She tugged him towards her and leaned up again, though this time they were just about even because of the additional four inches the step loaned her. Their lips met, and her tongue swirled through his mouth. She grasped his bottom lip with her teeth again and tipped her head back so that he had to follow her or lose contact. When she pulled away, the intent in her eyes was unmistakable.

Her fingers laced through his and she led him up the stairs.


	5. Chapter 5

Rachel Berry was almost twenty-six years old, and she had had three lovers in her life. She had known all of them quite well before she shared intimacies with them—far longer than a week, for sure.

None of them had been like Noah Puckerman.

In the doorway of her small apartment, she hesitated just a moment, remembering the pile of clothes on her bed, and the shoes that decorated her bedroom floor. The wine bottle she'd had two glasses from before she even went downstairs sat on the kitchen counter, and the storyboards for their spring production lay across the living room floor and coffee table.

None of these things caught Noah's interest however as she allowed him over the threshold.

He seemed only to have eyes for her.

Millions of thoughts paraded through her mind. Like why, if he were interested in her, did he suggest she date his partner? Why, if he wanted her so badly, had he continued to visit Quinn daily, touching her hand with what Rachel had assumed was longing?

Why was she willing to go to bed with a man she hardly knew?

When his hands cupped her face and his lips plundered hers, those questions, and every other thing she might have ever pondered, seemed to float away. When he peeled her dress off her body and worshipped her breasts (literally, the care with which his tongue and lips traveled over her made her feel like a pagan god), all she could do was clutch at him and say his name brokenly.

His words, "You clean?" came against her belly as he caught her by the back of the knees and she had no choice but to sit down on the arm of the couch as he knelt between her legs and removed her lace panties. "I haven't been with anyone in a long time, and I'm good," he breathed, the heat of his mouth melting her from the inside out.

She choked out, "Mmmm-hmmm," which seemed to satisfy him because his fingers spread wide against the insides of her thighs, making room for his head. "Oh, _god_ , Nooo-ah!" she gasped as his mouth came over her and his tongue flicked at her already engorged clit.

The sound of him eating her out was its own turn on; but the precision of his tongue, and the way his lips suckled her, fast and then slow, and then the entrance of two of his fingers had her grasping at his head, and practically sobbing his name. The natural curl of his hair wrapped around her own fingers until she felt enraptured by every part of him that touched her. It wasn't until she stopped spasming a few minutes later that she realized he had completely undressed her except for her Jimmy Choo heels, and with her legs hanging over his shoulders, she wondered if the stilettos might have accidentally left marks on his back.

He swore lowly under his breath as he got up off the floor. Leaning over her, he kissed her mouth, giving her a taste of her own flavor from his tongue. Impatiently she sat up and started undoing the vest and button-down shirt he wore, greedily stripping him so she could see every fabulous inch of him.

"You are so fuckin' gorgeous," he muttered, his hand curving along the side of her breast. His fingers trailed down her stomach and then he was working them between her legs again and she started to lose it, her ability to finish undressing him quickly becoming impossible because of the things he was doing to her. "I am going to fuck you until we both can't move. Is that cool with you?"

She was on the verge again, hanging on the precipice, literally and figuratively, as she tried to find purchase with her hands on his shoulders. He was gazing down at her with a triumphant expression, as though it had never pleased him so much to make any woman come. By the time she arched against him again, begging for him to stop, or never stop, she wasn't sure, her entire body was dewy with sweat.

"Please." She yanked on the front of his jeans ineffectually. "Noah, _please_ ," she whimpered in a voice she did not recognize. It was pure insanity, because she was so limp from two orgasms in such a short space of time that the idea of him inside her was only so she could give him some form of pleasure back. She needed him closer than he was at the moment, and the only way to achieve that was for him to be inside her. _Now_.

He stepped back just slightly and tossed his shirt aside, which gave her five seconds to think about it and realize she didn't want it to happen with her perched on the arm of the couch. So what if her bed was covered in clothes? That's where she needed to be when he came inside her. "Wait," she said, her hand against his chest.

"I have a condom," he said, which gave her pause that he was prepared, but also caused her to shake her head negatively.

"No, I want to feel you. No condom. But let's go to my room."

As she made to move past him, his arms surrounded her so that her back was pressed to his chest. He wasn't very hairy, just a small smattering of chest hair decorated his very beautiful body. He was so big she felt engulfed by him, and his lips moved down the side of neck, pushing her head to the left to rest against his shoulder. "You're on the pill?" he asked, and she liked that he wasn't just letting the topic go even though she'd been the one to nix the condom talk.

"I use one of those implants—Mirena—so we're good. No unwanted babies." They walked with some difficulty towards her bedroom because he wouldn't let her go, but she was fine with that. Talking about birth control reminded her of the first moment she ever saw him and the irreverent thought she'd had about carrying his baby.

She knew they were moving way too fast, but that repeated thought was almost enough for her to put the brakes on full footed to the floor. She spun out of his arms and looked up at him, but his eyes weren't on her face. His hands, however, were all over her ass, exploring softly. "Your body is..." He seemed unable to find the word he wanted and so he just pulled her back against him, slipping his leg between hers. He was still wearing his jeans, though he was missing his belt, and they were at least unbuttoned. She was sort of surprised to see that she'd gotten that far in undressing him because she definitely had no memory of it.

"No," she whispered, running her hands over his chest and across his biceps. "Your body is so..." and then he was kissing her again. Doubts, gone. Desire, _rampant_. She wanted him with every fiber of her being, and she wasn't going to keep questioning it. Nothing that had happened in the last week had been normal—and maybe there was a reason for that.

By the time they got to the bed, she had her hands inside his jeans, pushing them down over his hips. He kicked off his shoes and helped her shuck his pants and underwear off. Rachel looked at his cock with some fascination, as it was pretty proportionate with the rest of his body. She wrapped her hand around him, familiarizing herself with his size and shape, and he gasped her name.

She smoothed her hand down the length of it, gently squeezing the tip so that the fluid already there smeared across her palm. A high-pitched sound escaped his beautiful mouth, making her giggle and try to stretch up and capture his lips with her own again, but he pressed his palms to her shoulders so that she was flat on her back, clothes squashed beneath her. "My shoes," she remembered as he pushed her up slightly so he could kneel between her spread thighs.

"Leave 'em," he said, running his hands up both of her legs, the caress beginning at the top strap at the front of her ankle and ending when his fingers met at their apex.

"Kurt was right," she breathed as he bridged his body over hers, his hands landing on either side of her head.

"About what?" he asked.

"These shoes," she said, reaching between them to grasp his cock again. She brought him against her opening and moved the head in a slow downward drag so that both of them were panting and whimpering. "He told me to wear them and I'd blow your mind."

Puck's hazel eyes were so dark there was no green left in them, but it seemed like they went almost black with that information. "Blow _Hudson's_ mind, you mean," he groused.

"Noah," she whispered, shifting her legs wider and inhaling roughly as he started to push inside her. "I was dressing for you, and only you. I just couldn't tell Kurt that."

He cursed a litany of words that sounded beautiful to Rachel's ears as he shoved himself in to the hilt. "Fuckgodholyshitpleaseyes," and then neither of them could make words anymore even if they'd wanted to.

He was so hot, and huge, she felt stretched almost unbearably. It had been a long time for her, and she was suddenly more aware of that than anything. He moved back, pulling out and then thrusting in again, and they both made sounds somewhere between moans of ecstasy and groans of pain.

It was the good pain, though, Rachel found, squeezing her eyes shut. It was the _best_ pain.

She felt him jerk one of her legs up higher, pushing her wider and hooking her knee into the crook of his elbow. "You're so fuckin' tight," he ground out. "So little. Am I hurting you?"

She opened her eyes to find him watching her with such concentration that if all the blood in her body wasn't already at the surface of her skin, she would have blushed. She bit her lip and shook her head. "You feel amazing," she gasped out, and something about that finally put him over, because he buried his face in her neck and his hips started moving with less rhythm. She wrapped her arms around his neck and head, holding him close, and surprisingly, found her own release again as his movements became less and less controlled.

Closing her eyes as they flew out together, she knew she had somehow fallen in love with a man she barely knew, and it would kill her to lose him now.

* * *

Time ceased to exist inside Rachel's apartment. Puck was certain the New Year had come and gone, but they had no clue when, and neither of them cared.

He was fucking boneless. If the place caught on fire, he would just die right there, because he couldn't move if his life depended on it.

She was curled up against his side (though she had removed those sexy shoes—he loved that she'd had them on the entire time), and as he finally became aware of more than the sensory overload he'd just hurtled through, he asked, "Do you not use your closet? How hard would it be to keep your clothes in there?"

Her whole body trembled against his, but he realized it was laughter that shook her. She just pressed a kiss to his nipple and said, "This is the proof, Noah. I couldn't decide what to wear, so a lot of my clothes ended up here."

He processed that, and it made sense. It wasn't like he could move to get the crap out from under him, but there was definitely something with beads or spangles or something under his left butt cheek. "It's all got to be washed now, anyway," he murmured and she just laughed harder.

God, he loved her.

Oh, _fuck_.

This was the moment, right here, where if he'd had the ability to move, he might have run away like a cartoon character, his legs working for ten whole seconds before his body actually disappeared from the screen.

How the hell did stuff like this happen? It was fucking crazy.

Her fingers were moving back and forth across his chest and her voice came very quietly. "I don't do stuff like this, just so you know."

"What? Have sex?" He laughed when she poked his side with her other hand.

"Have sex with a man I just met."

"We didn't just meet. We've known each other a whole week."

"Noah," she said admonishingly. "You know what I mean."

He sighed, and opened his eyes to glance down at her head against his shoulder. "I do. And I wish I could lie to you and tell you I don't do shit like this either, but I can't. I haven't done it _lately_ , for sure. But I have done it in the past."

She lifted her head and rested her chin on his chest so that they could see each other's eyes. "You're a slut, huh?" she asked, one corner of her mouth hitching up into a smirk.

"Little bit," he admitted.

"It doesn't really surprise me. You're so gorgeous, you can probably get any woman you want."

He snorted. "Well, I'm sure you could have a lot more business if you put yourself out there. You know, instead of trying to fix guys up with your comatose friend."

She dropped his gaze and then flipped her hair out of the way to put her cheek back on his chest so that he couldn't see her eyes anymore. "You like Quinn," she said softly. "You admitted it. You kept coming to the hospital to see her. You were hoping she would wake up and fall in love with you."

"Um, Rach? That was your crazy idea—the part about her falling in love with me. I kept coming to the hospital because I knew _you'd_ be there."

She was quiet after that, and he shifted a little, running his hand down her bare back to her bottom. He patted her gently and then rested his palm on her cute little backside. "Really?" she asked.

With supreme effort, he pushed himself up, rolling her over so she was lying on her back. Leaning on an elbow, he looked down into her face. The insecurity he saw there surprised him, because she seemed so confident all the time. "What's your deal? Don’t you know you're just as hot as Quinn? Good lord, look at you. And besides, I was lost pretty much from the first time I heard you sing. It didn't have anything to do with your hot body, or your beautiful face. You could sing me into bed any time you wanted."

She watched him so intently, he felt more naked than just what lying in her bed with no clothes on implied. "I'm totally fuckin’ drunk," he said, flipping himself back over.

There was so much about him that she seemed to perceive easily, and the rest he just blurted out with no thought beforehand whatsoever. The fact that he was getting a glimpse of her insecurity should have buoyed him up some. It was nice to see that she wasn't in command of everything in her life as easily as she was the stage she performed on every night.

But still. He was much better at the _show_ than the _tell_. He thought he’d shown her good, too. Most women who'd had three orgasms in the space of an hour knew what that meant.

"You are not," she said. It was her turn to rest on her elbow to look at him, but he closed his eyes to preserve his dignity.

"It would be better if I was. I'm not really a share-my-feelings kind of guy. I don't know what it is about you..."

She pressed her lips to his and effectively shut him up. He turned his head so that they could kiss deeply, and he felt it start all over again, his cock stirring a little. "I'm jealous of Quinn," Rachel confessed softly as she pulled away from him. "I always have been, and then when you came along, I just felt like maybe I could make up for all my pettiness if I helped you two get together. You never know, when she wakes up, you might find that you prefer to her to me."

He slid his hand into her hair, holding her face close to his. "Or, I might just be happy with what I've got, and not need to look anywhere else." She pursed her lips as if that was the most ridiculous thing she'd ever heard. "Why didn't you go out with Finn when he asked?" he demanded before she could say anything else.

She chewed on her bottom lip and didn't respond so he jostled her. She landed against his side, her whole body pressing against his. "I just wasn't interested," she said.

He moved his hands down to her ass again and pulled her on top of him. "Why not?" he said entreatingly. She gave him a look like he already knew the answer, so he continued on. "Say it," he said, his fingers trailing along her ribcage on either side. She shifted against him, parting her legs slightly so that his growing erection had a place to fit easily. Her breasts lay against his chest, her nipples gently stabbing him. She was either cold, or she was ready for another round. (She didn't feel cold.)

"Say it," he said again, curving a hand between their chests so he could caress her.

"Fine!" she huffed, her eyes fluttering a little as his thumb strummed her soft flesh. "I didn't want to go out with him because I just want you!"

He smirked at her and she smacked his shoulder lightly. "See?" he asked. "Why, if that's how _you_ feel, is it so hard for you believe it's how _I_ feel?"

She shrugged. "I don't know."

"Rachel," he said very seriously, cupping her face in his hands. "I want you. _You_."

She smiled tremulously, allowing him to pull her closer so their lips could touch. "Now, please stop making me say all this shit that makes me feel like I'mma pussy. Okay? Give me a blow job and make me feel like the douchey bastard you didn't want to kiss you downstairs."

Rachel giggled, and buried her face against chest. "You were quite offensive. You'll probably hear about it for days from Kurt."

He laughed too, remembering Kurt's parting remark. "Shit," he muttered.

"On a positive note, I don't have a gag reflex," she said, flipping her head back to get her hair out of her face and smiling widely at him. She was so hot, and she had no idea. That made her _even_ hotter.

Puck put his hands on her shoulders and gently pushed her downwards. "That is fucking awesome!"

She looked up at him through her eyelashes as she slid down. "You have no idea." As her tongue came out to moisten her lips, Puck's cock came to full attention.

"Happy New Year," he groaned as she placed a very chaste kiss at the tip.

* * *

Across town, on the ICU floor of County General, the nurses were all drinking apple cider while dancing around the station desk.

Quinn Fabray slowly became aware of music playing, and then her eyes opened and she looked about, unsure of where she was. A moment of panic passed by, and then she realized she was in the hospital.

A nurse entered her room a few minutes later and noticed she was conscious. "Oh, honey, there you are! Your family and friends are going to be so happy you woke up." She was a warm, round faced black woman who reminded her of Mercedes’ mother. She patted Quinn's cheek softly.

She brought Quinn a glass of water, telling her to sip slowly since she hadn't had anything to eat for an entire week.

"What happened to me?" she asked; her voice didn't sound quite right. She supposed she hadn’t spoken for a week either.

"I don't know all the details, honey. But I think you got mugged, and fell and hit your head." She rubbed Quinn's hand and said, "The doctor will be coming shortly to make sure everything's up to par with you."

Eventually the doctor came, and told her she was going to be just fine. Her mother and father arrived shortly after that, and some hours later, after she'd fallen back to sleep for a while, her theater friends all showed up. Rachel brought in a man who looked vaguely familiar to her, and introduced him as Noah, the police officer who had saved her life. She noticed they were holding hands, but she didn't have a chance to ask about it because Noah turned to introduce her to his partner, Finn Hudson, the other man who had had a hand in helping her.

Quinn felt her face get hot as she looked at Finn. He was quite tall, and quite handsome, and she instantly liked the sweetness she saw in his face.

* * *

About nine months later, she stood backstage, practicing her deep breathing techniques. She always felt so nervous on opening night that she had a moment when she couldn’t remember why she'd ever become an actress to begin with.

The nerves always passed once she got out on stage, and she felt the energy from the crowd. She reminded herself of this again and again, but she had come to accept that it was just a part of the process for her. Unlike Rachel, the stage was not the place she felt completely free, but the challenge of it made her go out and conquer it every time.

“You okay, sweetie?”

She opened her eyes and saw Finn standing in the doorway of her dressing room. He had a huge bouquet of yellow roses, and the impish smile on his face that she fell more and more love with every day.

She stepped forward and took the roses, burying her nose in them briefly. “They’re beautiful,” she said.

“So are you.”

“I’m so nervous, Finn,” she confessed as she put the flowers on her dressing table, unable to appreciate his compliment.

“C’mere, I’ve got something to show you that will make you feel better.” He held his hand out to her and pulled her into the hallway where Kurt and Puck stood.

Puck looked slightly green, his normal color somehow waning under the hallway lights. Kurt was straightening the bow tie around Puck’s neck. "Are you sure about this?" Kurt asked.

"Yes," he said, sounding as nervous as he looked. "Yes, I'm sure. She'll say yes, right? _You do think she'll say yes?_ " he asked urgently.

Finn whispered, “You have heard about their big plan, right?”

Quinn laughed quietly, smiling up at Finn. Nodding, she looked back quickly, because if Puck was going to pass out, she didn’t want to miss it.

Puck knew Rachel Berry. He knew the best way to propose to her was in front of a packed theater prior to an opening night show. But now that the moment was upon him, he didn’t look like he'd really thought it all the way through.

"Yes, I'm positive she'll say yes," Kurt replied. “And if she doesn’t,” he added darkly, “I will skin her alive. This has been the most stressful day of my life, and I’m not even the one who’s proposing!”

The two guys disappeared down the hall and Quinn glanced towards Rachel's dressing room, which was two doors down from her own. “Who’s keeping Rachel busy?” she asked Finn.

“Tina’s got her pinned down in her dressing room. Some fake wardrobe malfunction.” Finn wrapped his arm around Quinn’s shoulders. “Feel better?”

She laughed. “Yes. I actually feel sorry for Puck. Poor guy. I’m sure she’ll say yes though. Don’t you think?”

Finn nodded. “Oh, sure she will. She might be bummed that it wasn’t her idea, you know. All the production.”

Quinn nodded. “Did you know, initially, she was going to fix me up with Puck? Isn’t that crazy? She was just telling me the other day—it was this big dramatic confession. But they fell for each other while I was sleeping.”

Finn hugged her tight. “Good thing, huh?”

She stretched her neck up for a good luck kiss. “Definitely.”


End file.
